Icarus
by AnonymousCreep
Summary: After a sharp pain wakes him up in the night, Seth finds a surprise in the mirror. Based off of an interview from the NXT days.
1. Upside Down

_Ouch._

The sun hasn't even begun to peek through the curtains when Seth wakes up grumpy from a suddenly fitful sleep. There was still another hour and a half before he really had to be awake, up and moving, rousing Roman from sleep and fighting tooth and nail to get Dean up and out of bed, but it seemed that Seth wasn't about to spend that precious time resting.

His back was hurting. It wasn't like the dull throb of a bad fall on the job, where the whole expanse of his shoulders and hips felt like one big bruise-this pain was sharp and acute, narrowed down only to his shoulder blades, like someone had pinned them with knives. Seth grunted as he rolled from his back, propping himself on his elbows and glaring at the neon green numbers of the digital alarm clock on the bedside table through his sleep-bleary eyes.

_5:45_.

He sighed, quietly so as not to wake the others and shimmied out of bed. Dean was snoring softly on the adjacent bed (the guy slept on his face; how was he even able to breathe, let alone snore?), Roman taking up the one in the other room, breathing quietly (to Seth, it reminded him of a hibernating black bear), and as Seth padded across the floor to the bathroom, neither of them stirred. For nights like these, Seth had learned to keep a bottle of ibuprofen to dull the pain until he could get some proper treatment, mostly to be taken on car rides and the like. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the lights, squinting at the bright intensity of the fluorescent bulbs.

His bag lay on the floor under the sink, next to Roman's- Dean's was thrown haphazardly at the foot of his bed outside-one pouch on the side already unzipped and the white cap of the tiny pill bottle poking out. Roman had probably used the bottle beforehand (he'd taken a pretty nasty bump that night) and forgotten to close the bag. Seth leaned down and snatched the pill bottle out, wincing as his shoulders stretched and the pain raced to spread across them. He was already forming a plan to further relieve the pain-running one of the white washcloths under the sink using water as hot as he could stand and then wringing it out to make a makeshift heat pad for his shoulders-when he straightened and actually looked at himself in the mirror. The minute he caught sight of his reflection, he froze, plan lost, any traces of sleep evaporating completely.

Seth slowly reached up and combed his fingers through his hair, from root to end. His hand came away with so many soft, downy feathers that it looked like a pillow had exploded over his head. Feathers?

Did his pillow have a tear in it somewhere?

He shook out his hair for good measure and a shocking amount of the tiny white feathers came tumbling from it, dancing to the floor around his bare feet. One had even found itself clinging to his beard. Grumbling under his breath about cheap pillows, Seth unscrewed the bottle cap and downed the pill dry. He reached back then, rubbing grimly at his aching shoulder blades, and suddenly froze. Grimacing as he stretched his arm further to reach, he felt an icy sensation creeping up his spine as his fingers ghosting over a lump jutting from his shoulder. It was sensitive to the touch, felt rubbery and smooth, roughly about the size of an egg, and felt as though it were covered in the same downy feathers he'd found stuck in his hair.

Seth's heartbeat skipped frantically, his still-sleep mind clouded with fatigue and fear of _what-the-hell-is-that_, and he pursed his lips tightly as he slowly turned in the mirror.

It was kind of…gross, actually, the fleshy little stumps that stuck out from his shoulder blades like deformed knots. Despite being covered in the tiny feathers, Seth could see the way they grafted perfectly into the rest of his skin-no seams or healing scars that told him how they had been put there-albeit being a little pink like new skin tended to be. But how had they gotten there? They hadn't been stuck there when he'd showered earlier (well, actually, they had been-they were only two little pinkish spots on each shoulder blade at the time-but he hadn't noticed), and either Roman or Dean would have told him if they'd noticed them before he'd crawled into bed.

But there they were, on either shoulder, pink and new and young.

At least he knew where the pain was coming from.

It figured the one time that Dean actually woke up on his own Seth would be in some sort of predicament. Never mind that it was only to piss, he was awake and groggy, and in a one-track mood: _get in, use the bathroom, get out, sleep_, and Seth was about to get in the way of that. He stumbled to the door, only really registering the occupied bathroom after standing before the door and seeing the thin strip of light peeking from under the jamb. He shut his eyes and exhaled deeply. "Seth?" he called in a low voice that was vaguely annoyed and weighted with sleep, and leaned his forehead against the door with a soft thump.

Inside, Seth jumped, tearing his eyes away from his reflection and swearing under his breath. He was fully awake now after having been startled by the appearance of stumps. "Dean? You're awake?"

_Of all the times!_

"Affirmative, Captain Obvious," came the sarcastic reply. "You got clothes on?"

Seth furrowed his brow. "Um…yes?"

"Great, then I'm coming in."

Seth was pretty sure that he'd shut Dean's fingers in the door with the speed he'd flown from his perch on the sink to the door, throwing himself against it and holding the plastic knob, wincing as he heard Dean thump against it when it immediately slammed back in his face. "Seth, what the hell?" He wasn't shouting, only raised his voice to normal speaking level, still gruff with sleep.

"What do you want?" Seth called from behind the door, probably speaking louder than necessary. "Christ, to use the bathroom, why else? What are you even doing?" Dean grumbled back. Seth looked around the bathroom, still pressed against the door, and his eyes fell on the light switch. He quickly turned out the lights, wrenched the doorknob, yanked the door wide open, earning a startled yelp and a strangled swear from Dean as he fell into the open bathroom, and scrambled past in the darkness. A glorious tidal wave of expletives saucy enough to make a sailor nervous came tumbling from Dean's mouth, only muffled slightly by the bathroom door closing behind him and the bed sheets as Seth burrowed under them.

Admittedly, he felt kind of childish hiding under the covers like that. Like there's a monster in the bathroom (to be honest, he wasn't wrong) that would eat him if he caught him. He sighed into the pillow, wrapping his arms under and around it, the cool seeping across the warm skin of his forehead. He couldn't say that he was overreacting, because if _you_ woke up with feather-stumps on your back, wouldn't you raise Cain to your deformed reflection too? But still, that didn't dispel the heat of self-embarrassment from his already rosy face.

The bathroom door opened with a loud_ thunk_ and Seth immediately shrank under the sheets. He could hear Dean's heavy footfalls as he plodded back to bed and as they neared, a heavy-handed fist collided with his back, right between his shoulders. Seth practically ate the pillow to keep from screaming.

"Ass," Dean mumbled and went back to sleep.


	2. Coming Down

For once in his life, Seth despised the gym for all that he was worth. He was sitting with his back to-not touching-the blue concrete wall, water bottle in hand, humming at the stiff pain in his shoulders. He hadn't slept a wink since he'd woken up to the little stumps on his back, mostly lying awake on his side watching the clock tick away the time. It had still been a struggle to get Dean up, despite him having been awake an hour prior, and with Seth still wired and exhausted-at the same time-it hadn't been any easier than it would've been had he been fully rested. It was_ worse_.

Still, they'd all made it to the local gym in one piece, Roman taking Seth's place as the one in a consistent fitness haze as he worked his way from one piece of equipment to the other, and the others lagging behind. Even Dean was moving around at a better pace than Seth was, and _he_ was the one who needed the most prodding to even roll out of bed to get there in the first place. Now, he wandered over to him, tapping his foot with his sneaker. "Hey," he called. Seth craned his neck to look at him. "Hey."

"You sick or something?"

Seth reached up and swiped at his sweaty forehead with the collar of his t-shirt. "Nah," he replied, shrugging, "I'm fine."

"You keep stopping in the middle of reps."

Seth had hoped no one had noticed. He had to keep stopping because the sharp pain in his shoulders had nagged him to a pause until the throb had subsided to a more manageable level. Then he did the same thing over again; _start a rep, freeze with pain, wait, repeat_. He was never going to get anything done with them stuck to his back like this. He'd vaguely thought of trying to pull them off, absentmindedly hating them as he tried in vain to power through a set of lunges, but then he remembered how sensitive they had been whenever he or anything else came in contact with them. What if they were made of bone? Muscle? Cartilage? He wasn't sure, but he knew he wasn't ready to take that chance yet.

He'd worn a shirt to the gym today, kept it on through his (what barely passed for a) workout. It felt like he was baking in a furnace, or wrapped in a blanket in the middle of August. It was actually Roman's shirt that he'd borrowed, grey and a size bigger to make sure the nubs were well enough concealed-his shirts were all a little tight and fitting and would have hurt him when they brushed down over his shoulders. It was hell.

"I'm not really feeling it today."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You sure you aren't sick?" he said again, squatting beside Seth and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Seth rolled his eyes and batted his hand away. "Seriously; when do you ever not feel like working out?"

"I'm just tired."

Dean shrugged. "I can understand that. And with that, I return to the hotel. What? I'm tired too, and if the fitness nut himself isn't even feeling up to this crap, then it must be a sign." He grinned lopsidedly and slapped Seth on the back between the shoulders. Seth masked his whimper as a sharp cough, trying to play off the pain for secrecy's sake. "Dusty," he mumbled to Dean as a means of explanation. Dean shrugged and moved to wander off. The moment he was gone, Seth brought his knees to his chest and screamed into his shorts.

Surprisingly, he felt a little better after that.

.

.

.

Seth hummed quietly as he lay on his bed. They had a day off until the next Raw show and he was going to spend it trying to stay out of as much pain as possible, and that meant lounging around like a sea sponge. Normally he would be too energized to just spend the day lying in bed, but today, it felt like all his energy and strength had been drained from him, all of the twenty-seven year old vivaciousness having been replaced with an eighty year old's failing health and stamina.

He was trying to focus on breathing, in and out, in and out, but found it easier to doze while he lay face down at the foot of his bed. His socked feet hung over the edge, his arms splayed to either side of him, he looked like a murder victim, barely moving and just as quiet, save for the occasional small hum as the chorus of his favorite song cycled through the earbuds stuffed in his ears. He had nearly fallen into the clutches of full sleep when suddenly pain began shooting everywhere at once, pulsing from his shoulders in time with the fists raining down on his back. He cried out, more startled than hurt, before he registered pain-pain from Roman friendly punching him (an awkward greeting that he and Dean sometimes initiated with each other) and pain from moving around so quickly. Of course Roman hadn't meant to hurt him; he didn't know. But _damn_ if Seth wasn't nearly in tears when he finally found his way to facing him.

"Startle you?" Roman said with an eyebrow raised. "Kinda looked like you were just flailing angrily for a moment there." Seth shook his head, pressing his lips together so hard they felt bruised. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving." Seth shook his head again. "N-nah. You go ahead. I'm not really hungry." He had been half-expecting his voice to come out as a squeak. "I'm just gonna hang here; take a nap, try to chill…"

_Try not to cry_.

"Alright. You want us to bring you anything? Dean said you were coming down with something," said Roman. Seth exhaled, blowing hair out of his face. "No, I'm fine. You guys go ahead."

So they did. And when Seth was sure that they had gone, he stripped off the shirt-the second he'd borrowed from Roman today; this one was clean, and he'd had to promise to do the laundry for him in order to get that shirt-and threw it across the bed, and let the artificially cool air from the AC waft across his bare back and rustle the tiny white feathers. They had perked up almost immediately, having been tamped down with sweat and the fabric from the shirt, and spread out gratefully in the fresh air, finally allowed to breathe. Seth shivered, but it didn't matter. For once the pain was gone, not dull or pinching. Gone.

It was the best nap of his life.

.

.

.

He dreamed of birds.

Of big, colorful ones with exotic sounding names and different shapes and sizes. Of small ones with little plain wings and feathers and common boring names. They flew around in frantic bursts, flying over one another in random motions and patterns, like a patchwork of birds. It was surreal, pretty, though it was a little jarring the way it felt as though they might fly right into Seth and scratch his eyes out. But there weren't just birds. Horses with wings-oh, what were they called? For the life of him, Seth couldn't remember what the horses with wings were called; _centaurs_?-came flapping into the mix, bursting through the colorful clouds of birds and eventually flying in the same strange flight pattern as they were, galloping through the air and chasing after the red tails of some parrots.

The haze of airborne creatures continued their dips and dives, freefalls and loop-the-loops for what seemed like an eternity, which Seth was completely content to watch. It was actually beautiful; he'd never seen anything like it when he'd been awake, especially not the flying horses (_ugh, satyrs_?). A thought popped into his head then: was he flying too? He could feel the wings beating all around him, the feathers grazing his cheek and the chirps and calls and whinnies carrying above his head, so did that mean that he was flying right along with them?

.

A clap of thunder ruined the scene. It happened so suddenly; one moment it had been a tranquil scene of colorful paradise and the in the next, birds were scrambling about, the happy chirps turned to frantic squawks, flying up and away, over his head where he couldn't see or catch them, and the winged horses (_Pegasus, aha_!) came barreling towards him, tongues lolling and legs straining, and as they neared they just didn't seem to want to stop…

.

.

.

Seth rolled over and opened his eyes, half expecting to be coughing up blood and mucus with a flurry of hoofprints trampled into his chest. Instead, he found himself staring at the popcorn ceiling of the hotel room, panting for breath like he'd just finished running a mile. He was fine. All of his blood and internal organs were still right where they needed to be, his ribs hadn't caved in, and there were no signs of exotic birds having been in the room. They were all gone. Strangely enough, however, Seth could still hear their frantic squawking echoing in his ears. What had set them off, he wondered. What had all of that meant?

He heard the door being opened, the click of a key card being accepted, the crinkle-thump of a plastic bag accidently bumping against the wood, low voices in the hall. He sat up as Roman and Dean walked in, carrying a white plastic bag of what looked like Chinese takeout boxes, and greeted him. "Hey, you're up! You okay though? You look a little pale."


	3. Growing Pains

Seth opened his eyes to darkness. Looking around, his eyes fell on the digital clock, and he felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

5:45.

He'd woken up to a pain in his back again-because that was how déjà vu worked-and rolled his tired eyes so far into his head he was sure that he could see his brain shooting sparks as it collapsed from exhaustion. Slowly, he scooted out of bed, wary of Dean sleeping in the bed across from him and hoping with everything he had that he didn't wake up again like he had the night before. God knew that had been a close call. He shuffled to the bathroom and chanced a stretch. He'd managed to stave off the pain for a short while before he'd gone to bed earlier by standing under the hot water in the shower until Dean had banged on the door and barked for him to hurry the hell up.

Turning on the light, Seth braved a glance into the mirror and…

Honestly didn't know what he was expecting. If anything, the little stumps had gotten bigger. Rather than looking like little powdery lumps, they now poked out of his back like two little tendrils. Seth thought they looked like tiny curled fingers-which was actually super gross-and wrinkled his nose at them. He knew what they were. He'd always known what they were-the feathers were a dead giveaway. He wasn't stupid, he was just in denial. He didn't want to believe he had wings growing out of his back, but they were there and they were just as real as he was; he'd proved that the first night when he experimentally pulled one of the small feathers out and nearly yelped at the sharp pain that followed (honestly, he had no idea what drove him to torture himself so).

There was still no answer as to where the things had come from. He'd dreamed again, but the only thing he'd gathered from it was that, for one, Pegasus-_pegasi_?-were damn cool, and two, he would probably grow to have either really colorful wings or really bland ones. Deep down, he kinda hoped for really cool colored ones. Hey, if there was no way to escape this, he may as well have some fun with it and get some sick looking jet black wings, the kind that were so black they looked dark violet or cobalt blue in the sunlight.

Seth sighed and took a pill. Then he turned off the light, crawled back into bed, made sure he covered his shoulders, and went back to sleep.

.

.

.

He dreamed of a little sparrow, flapping frantically on the ground. Its wing stuck out at an awkward angle, like it was broken, and the tiny thing was screaming its head off when Seth came close. He thought it might bite him, but when he went to pick it up and held it cupped in his hands, it quit its screaming, relapsed into a weak chirping and went quiet altogether. Dead.

.

Seth woke up again in an hour, wondering what it meant.

.

.

.

The car ride to Anaheim was like riding into hell. Seth glared over the windowsill through the window out into the country as it passed by in a blur of green grass and blue sky, and if you look to your right, you'll see Satan himself with his pitchfork, welcoming you into hell, you pitiful soul. Seth sighed and returned to his former position. He'd lying on his side in the backseat while Dean and Roman took up the front, listening to them talk about different kinds of barbecue sauces (Seth wasn't quite sure where that conversation had come from; they _had_ been talking about the new storyline with the '_powers-that be'_, so barbecue sauce was an odd transition that Seth hadn't been participating in at the time), while he absentmindedly pondered the wings and his dream, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a tiny pressure poked him in the back.

Turning awkwardly in the seat, Seth found Dean watching him expectantly. "What?"

"I said, do you want to stop for wings for lunch," Dean repeated, unfazed by the obliviousness of his friend and the odd angle he'd twisted himself into (so_ that_ was where the barbecue sauce conversation came from). The pain in his shoulders flared up again in protest to his contorting in the seat, but Seth didn't need the pain from the little stubs to tell Dean no, he didn't want wings for lunch. "How about a sandwich instead?"

.

.

.

Anaheim and Seth was starving and exhausted. He'd turned down wings, insisted on looking out the window, at his phone, at the back of the guy's head in the booth in front of them, anywhere but at Roman and Seth while they ate. He couldn't help feeling a little betrayed while they tore into their plates of barbecued wings, like, _hello? Insensitive to teammate with wings, much_? But he didn't mind. Tonight was show night, and catering would be set up, ready and waiting for him when they arrived at the venue. He'd been worried, actually, because if you hadn't noticed, he had a pair of fresh baby wings poking out of his back; one bump on the mat or belly-to-back suplex and he was done for. Finished. Pushing daisies. Seeing stars.

It was only a promo tonight, thank god. He'd sighed with relief when he'd gotten the script in the locker room. Just wait for your cue, come down, talk shit to Trips and Orton, kick ah hole in their metaphorical teeth and then split. Seemed easy enough.

So then why was Seth finding it so damn hard to get into the swing of things?

He couldn't wear the vest. It hurt the wings too much and frankly, he didn't think he could do a promo squirming and biting his lip and trying not to scream from the pain, and any plans to try and suffer through went out the window when he was told the promo was scheduled to last around ten minutes. Damn it all; he was just gonna have to wing it.

Heh, wing it.

So Seth borrowed-_man_, he was getting real sick of this, and Roman probably was at his limit as well, but he teased him, calling him a real fangirl for wanting so many articles of his clothing and loaned him a jacket-Roman's Hounds of Justice jacket and simply wore it without the usual black athletic wear shirt, zipping it up as far was it would go. When Dean saw him, he gave him an odd look, asked him if he was trying to break the rules or something. Seth shrugged. It wasn't his intent, no, but…

Regardless, he wore the jacket out to the ring, shot the promo, and resisted the urge to flat out shove Roman when he shook his shoulder while talking and unknowingly jostled the wings. Jesus, had his friends _always_ been this physical? When the promo was finished, he didn't join them in the locker room. He flew to catering and scarfed down anything his fingers landed on.

Except the wings.

.

.

.

Where did they get this stamina from?

And more importantly, what had happened to Seth's? He was lying in bed again, this time with the shakes and so much pain that he couldn't move. Dean and Roman had gone out somewhere, he didn't know where; was it possible to be in so much pain at a time that you can't hear a thing but the ringing in your ears?

The wings. They were throbbing, pulsing with stinging heat and sharp needles and hatchets. Seth lay curled on the bed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and shaking with the thrumming agony that tore through him. He'd tried biting his lip, the inside of his cheek even, but when he'd started tasting the coppery tinge of fresh blood, he'd resorted to screaming into the sheets. Which felt a lot better than biting his lip until he bled or grinding his teeth until they turned to dust, and, hey, it took his mind off of the horrifying (super)natural beauty of human development that was growing pains. It had been this way for nearly ten straight minutes. The TV was on, but he couldn't hear it. Ten minutes into a Guitar Center Session episode and the pain still hadn't hit its peak until Seth was sure that bone had begun poking through skin.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

If he had seen what was really going on-the tiny pink stumps stretching and tearing through flesh and curling like gnarly demonic fingers, how red the skin was getting, and even what was going under the skin; bones splintering themselves and fusing back together, shifting around to make room for new appendages, cracking and popping, flexing and creaking and twisting -he probably would have passed out sooner.


	4. In Which There Are Wings

Seth woke again to something cool settling over his shoulders. He blinked his eyes open to mere slits, still rather exhausted, and tried to get a hold of his bearings. He couldn't remember what had even happened before he fell asleep, he was so out of it-let's see…there had been a pint of ice cream all but inhaled down his throat, a slight setback once a brain freeze had stubbornly settled into him, and Avenged Sevenfold had been working their way through a live performance on an episode of Guitar Center Sessions. Oh, wait, had he missed it? Shit, and he had actually been kind of looking forward to it, too. Had he just been so exhausted by wrestling with the new wings that had sprouted up on his back that he had passed out in much needed sleep?

Oh, wait. The wings.

Seth sat up quickly on his side, propped on one elbow, springing up like a sprout and startling the person behind him. The surprised yelp came from Dean, who had been sitting on the edge of the mattress behind Seth, and shocked Seth so thoroughly that his wings sprang to life, fluttering spastically and sending feathers dancing around them. Seth made a strangled noise at the sudden involuntary movement in his shoulders which meshed with Dean's loud string of curses as he fell backwards from the bed.

"What? What? What's going on-"

Seth looked up with a mix of terror and shock as Roman poked his head out from around the corner, most likely from the bathroom, words dying on his lips as he took in the scene. "Oh," he said rather simply, and Seth would've laughed-always the cool, collected one Roman was-if he hadn't currently been turning away to hide the wings from view. His heart was pounding in his chest so loudly that he barely heard Roman chuckle, "Too late for that. Looks like you've got some explaining to do."

.

.

"Why did you do this to yourself?"

Seth made a face. "Get real, man. You think I'd suddenly decide to sprout wings and make life a living hell for fun?"

He sat cross-legged on the bed, hid chin in one hand and the other hand absently playing with a stray feather. It looked like they had gotten bigger, no longer white and downy. They were beginning to look like actual bird feathers, fawn colored with strands of gold so fine they were barely noticed. Dean and Roman watched him with something like concern, disbelief and curiosity meshed into one expression that looked more like a grimace than anything remotely positive or encouraging. It made Seth feel like they thought of him as a freak now, a freak with wings growing out of his back.

"Hell, I don't know! I mean, how many people have you met who just up and grow wings out of nowhere?" said Dean, scrubbing his hand through his short hair. "I thought you'd gotten one o' those weird body mods or whatever. You're wacky enough to try."

Seth gave him a dull look. "Pot calling the kettle black, huh?"

"Anyway," Roman said a bit loudly to call attention back to the matter at hand, "When were you going to tell us?" At Seth's fidgeting look, he shrugged. "It's not like we wouldn't have found out sooner or later. How were you gonna hide a pair of wings for the rest of your life from us? And you know Dean never knocks anyway, so it wasn't like he was never going to walk in on you while they were out in the open." Dean shrugged his shoulders, shamelessly not denying Roman's accusation. Seth sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. I don't know anything at all. They just showed up one night and they've been growing ever since. I thought I was going crazy, but there's no way I'm imagining pain like this." Roman winced slightly, to which Seth quickly added, "They don't hurt all the time. Just when they were really little and growing out. I don't hurt at all now."

"How long have they been there?"

"Three days tops."

"And they're already that big?"

Seth furrowed his brow. He'd forgotten that he hadn't seen how much progress they'd made overnight. After that awful bout of growing pains and the initial shock with Dean earlier, he hadn't really gotten around to checking himself in the mirror. He slipped off the bed and ducked into the bathroom.

Seth was naturally tall-he liked to say about six feet and two inches tall-so that must make the wings about three feet in height now, almost half the size of him and covered in a mix of fully grown feathers and some late blooming down. They looked skinny, not quite as majestic as he had pictured them to be, but he figured with all the baby feathers still hanging around, the wings would still get bigger, and that both excited and terrified him. It was an odd emotion that he'd had a few go-rounds with before in his line of work, but never quite been exposed to when it came to sudden animal parts being grafted onto his body. Now it just felt kind of sickening, a morbid curiosity.

"So are you half-bird now?" was the first thing out of Dean's mouth when Seth returned. He sat back on his hands and smirked at the glare Seth sent his way, while Roman rolled his eyes at the comment. "How does this even happen?"

"I don't know. Maybe I was experimented on as a baby and genetically mutated with a falcon or an eagle or some shit-how should I know? I'm just as in the dark as you are," Seth said, dropping down on the mattress and drawing his knees to his chest. He nibbled on his lip for a moment in silence. "What did you think when you first saw them? The wings, I mean."

Roman shrugged. "Probably the same thing you did."

.

_"__Ohmygodwhatthefuck?"_

_Dean nearly dropped the plastic bag of coke bottles in his shock. He and Roman had just stepped out for a run to a closeby convenience store, intending to be back at the hotel room in five minutes, but had gotten caught up by a small group of fans that had been passing by. They'd already been gone for twenty minutes by the time they'd returned to find Seth asleep and…different._

_Roman followed in after him, drawn by the sudden outburst and froze when he saw Seth, stepping back in surprise. "What…"_

_The first thought-other than the obvious 'what the actual fuck is going on?'-was that Seth was growing wings from his back. Full-fledged wings, like an angel or something. The second was that they had walked in to find them on display, and something about discovering them without Seth knowing seemed…rude? Like, they had just leaned over his shoulder and read his texts or had been snooping around in his things. Like they weren't supposed to see this._

_But it was just a pesky feeling, nothing more than an odd thought._

_Dean edged towards the sleeping figure and warily poked the feathery wings, making a disgusted, squeamish sound as he did so. "Oh my god, that's so gross. They're real; I can feel the bones and everything."_

_Roman reached out, hesitated and drew back his hand, thought better of it, and gently shook Seth's shoulder. "Hey," he called out trying to wake him. He didn't miss the sheen of sweat that came away on his hand, coating Seth's skin, though it did take him longer to recognize Seth's ragged breathing. It sounded like he'd been running miles before he and Dean had even shown up. He tried to wake him again, this time calling out his name and jostling him with a little more force, but Seth, it seemed, was down and out for the count. _

_Roman's mind raced for what to do. There didn't seem like there was anything _to _do, except just let him sleep, if he could even call it that. This bordered on unconsciousness-Seth was never this hard to wake up; that was usually Dean._

_"__Hey," Roman nudged Dean and gestured to Seth, "help me move him." _

_Roman looped his arms under Seth's, careful to avoid touching the wings or getting a mouthful of feathers, and pried his teammates fingers from their death-grip around the covers, while Dean pulled the sheets out from under him. When they'd resettled him under the sheets, Dean folded his arms, looking uneasy and rightfully so. "What do we do now?"_

_Roman had asked himself that the moment he walked in and saw the wings sprouting from Seth's back, though he wasn't sure if he had a valid answer. He shook his head, sat back on the adjacent bed and watched the feathers rustle with each breath Seth took and the quiet whoosh of air from the AC. _

_"__We wait for him to wake up, I guess."_

.

Seth didn't raise his head from resting on his knees, arms folded across them. His eyes were downcast, turned deep ebony in thought, and a slight frown marring his features. Roman thought he looked like a brooding angel. Quietly, Seth said, "You guys don't think I'm a freak, do you?" Honestly, he wasn't feeling too great about his friends having found out about the wings sticking out of his back. He knew he would have to tell them sometime, but he hadn't wanted it to be so soon, and definitely not in the way they'd discovered them today.

"'Course not," was Dean's reply. "Okay, maybe a little, but that can't be helped. Sometimes things happen that we can't control and that's not our fault. We just have to work our way around it and stay calm. You'll still be Seth, the same two-toned weirdo who listens to his music too loud and spends way too much time in his weird fitness Zen wonderland at the gym, and a pair of chicken wings pokin' out yer back aint gonna change that."

Seth raised a dark eyebrow at him. "Wow, Dean. That was…strangely encouraging and seriously out-of-character of you," he said slowly. "I'm impressed. What Lifetime movie did you lift that from?"

Dean made a face and fell back on the bed. "Shut up. Who even watches Lifetime movies anyways? That came from here," he poked at his chest without sitting up.

"What? That empty cavity in your chest where a heart should be?" said Roman. Dean flipped him his middle finger and Seth laughed. His wings twitched at his back, still trying to get the hang of being alive and real, but Seth didn't mind. His brothers knew and they still accepted him. He would be okay.

.

He dreams again.

This time of a little boy holding a squeaking hummingbird tightly in his fist. He reaches out and pinches a fingerful of bright green feathers from the hummingbird's body, which sends the tiny creature into a fit. The boy's freckled face breaks out in a grin and he keeps plucking, more and more, until a green pile is gathered at his feet.

.

Seth wakes in the morning, feeling wary and unsettled.


	5. Small Victories

Honestly, he was scared to death of having to get back to work with a pair of wings jutting out of his back.

It didn't help that Seth was best known for throwing himself around the ring-and _god forbid_ there be _chairs_ brought into the mix-it was enough to break him into a cold sweat as he shifted from foot to foot in one of the arena corridors. Seth had actually gotten used to wandering around in a too big t-shirt by now. He was already so accustomed to all of his clothes being well-fitted (everyone who knew him knew that he _loved_ his skinny jeans), so he'd been skeptical about his ability to wear loose-fitting clothes easily and without fuss. With Roman now in understanding as to why Seth had been borrowing his shirts so often, he teased him less and was a lot more willing to loan him a couple.

Still, he had no idea what he was going to do tonight during the match he had scheduled. He couldn't wear the hoodie he'd gotten away with the last time on account of actually having to get physical, and his wings were still fidgety and pinpricked with pain if rubbed the wrong way. And how on god's green earth was Seth supposed to fit them into his vest? They were almost as big as he was! Seth had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to come up with ways to pull this off and had so far found none; he'd spent the better part of the time when he wasn't in public wandering around the hotel room shirtless. His wings were really weird to be honest. They would flutter sometimes without him thinking of it, like when he stretched and the vertebrae went popping, sending shivers down his spine, or when he was standing in the shower (_that_ had scared him to death, the way they'd begun flapping so suddenly under the sudden spray of hot water, beating against the curtains and nearly knocking him off balance).

"Are you sure they're not parasites?" Dean had asked, picking feathers out of his hair when he'd accidentally startled Seth and sent the wings into a flapping frenzy.

Long story short, Seth was still getting the hang of them.

Sometimes he would forget to fold them in entirely and knock stuff over if he turned around too quickly. He left tiny feathers all over the place. Once, he got a receipt stuck to the feathers and when Roman went to pull it away, he unknowingly snagged a few along with the paper and pulled them out. Seth wouldn't stop flinching away from him whenever he came close for the whole day.

To say he was surprised that Roman and Dean's reactions to the wings wasn't total rejection of their freak little brother was an understatement. He wasn't very sure of what he had been expecting them to do-_'I don't know; maybe try to pull them out? Oh, wait, don't think about that, don't think about that-_but he was glad that it hadn't been anything drastic or that might hurt him or his feelings, because god knew that Dean was the most physical of the three, and he lived by the motto '_when in doubt, yank it _out', which more or less applied to mysterious pieces of broken machinery sticking haphazardly out of engines or refrigeration units, broken zippers on his jackets, splinters or perhaps even wings. Seth shuddered at the thought.

Feeling restless just standing there worrying about the next few hours, Seth began wandering around, up and down hallways until he found himself back in front of the locker rooms. Inside, he steeled his nerves and tried on a few of the shirts he had stashed in his gear bag, some comedically large on him (Roman's) and others he had trouble even getting across his shoulders once he pulled his head through. The bigger ones he had no trouble getting into, but the ones that were smaller (_read: actually his_) were the toughest to squeeze into. There was literally no room for both him and the wings; he tried to force a shirt over them and they fluttered about, actually _fought_ _him back_ against the shirt and succeeded in stretching the entire damn thing out.

That was one shirt ruined.

Seth sighed and concentrated. He remembered seeing birdhouses as a kid hanging up from people's porches and windows, remembered watching the birds hop in and out of the tiny openings carved into the little wooden houses. How had they done it? The openings were so narrow, they looked impossible to get into. Then, memories of being the small, lanky kid on the playground came flooding back. He'd always been able to cram himself into tiny places, like between the slides when one of his classmates had accidentally dropped Seth's Gameboy Color inside, or behind the refrigeration unit in the kitchen for spare change that might have rolled underneath.

Maybe that was it. He just needed to be _smaller_.

He imagined his wings pressing close to his body, like trying to squeeze his arms really tight against his sides. Eventually he felt the heaping mass of feathers pressing against his skin, carefully slipped a shirt on over his head and slowly wiggled into the fabric. It took some awkward shimmying and less than attractive twisting and turning to get into the shirt; he nearly tripped over his feet and bumped into some lockers trying to maneuver into the tee.

Seth stood in the mirror above one of the sinks. He ran a hand across his shoulders, turning this way and that as he watched his reflection for signs of his wings poking out from the shirt. Save for a few textured lumps (and the obvious tail ends of the longer feathers) exiting from the bottom, it would have been hard to tell Seth even had anything sprouting from his back.

He hummed softly to himself in thought.

Maybe this would work.

He thumped the back of his shirt. No pain and the wings stayed mostly still (he was beginning to think the fluttering was only a reflex).

Whoa, this might actually work.

.

**Sorry it's kind of short. Are the wings sentient? ;)**

**-AC**


	6. Slightly Bigger Victories

Seth leaned against the ropes with one arm curled under his chin and the other hanging limply into the ring.

Not doing much of anything.

He had a hand in the ring in case a tag needed to be made, but Roman seemed to be dominating on his own pretty well. Dean stood on the corner with Seth, a little more animated than the winged man next to him. Seth had managed to get into his ring gear the same way he'd gotten into the shirt earlier and found it relatively easy to keep the wings together now that they were being held down. He rolled his shoulders and sent a small popping down his spine. The wings shifted in the athletic shirt in response.

His thoughts wandered.

What if he began to grow feathers on his arms and legs? Dean had already joked once about Seth turning into a bird, but Seth couldn't help but be worried about that (probably unlikely) possibility; what if he did turn into a giant bird? He imagined himself growing sharp talons where his toenails and fingernails would be, a shiny yellow beak for lips and beady black eyes in place of his sandstorm brown ones. He thought about the way birds always moved in little bobbing motions when they walked, grinning bittersweetly at the thought of Bird-Seth following a flock of pigeons around the sidewalk, bobbing his head back and forth just as they did.

"…watch out!"

Pain throbbed behind Seth's forehead as Roman's elbow collided with him, clubbing him square between the eyes and nearly knocking him off the turnbuckle and out of the corner. Seth saw stars, heard two voices at once, Roman's (he thought) telling him to get in the ring-he was technically tagged, and Dean's (he knew from the booming laugh off to his side) telling him, "now that's how your get your head in the game!"

Seth rolled his eyes and slipped between the ropes. Thankfully, Jimmy (or was this Jey? He could never tell with the twins) wasn't a very heavy or violent kind of guy and wouldn't break Seth over his knee or anything. Seth still had to be cautious, but at least he wasn't on as high alert as he would be if it had been Big Show or Kane in the other corner. They shuffled around for a while, grappling on and off for a few minutes before the both of them began trying to wrap the match up with their flashier moves.

Somehow, Seth ended up flying out of the ring-not actually flying, but falling most unceremoniously- and landing flat on his back. The family standing nearest to him behind the barricade reacted very badly to the loudly shouted swear word that rocketed out of Seth's mouth.

He staggered up, forgetting what came next after dives like these where he ended up outside of the ring, until he was sent crashing back into the barricade with his arms full of Jey (Jimmy? If they could just, like, wear different clothes, or maybe a painted sign to differentiate between the two? Would that be too much to ask for?). And thank fuck for the tight Under Armour shirt and padded S.W.A.T. gear, or Seth's wings and back would've been snapped in half as he and Jimmy (right?) went tumbling over the barricade.

Didn't mean it didn't still hurt like a bitch, though.

"I can't believe you just suicide dived me," Seth grunted, rolling onto his side and sitting up. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, wincing as he too got to his knees. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"

They dragged themselves back to the ring and made a convincing display of wrestling, until Seth tagged Roman back in and Jimmy (or Jey, whatever) let his twin take over for him. Dean slapped him on the back, and immediately drew his hand back when Seth gave him a look full of rattlesnake venom.

"Sorry, kiddo. We'll ice it later, yeah?"

.

.

Dean filled up another plastic Ziploc bag full of the ice that Roman had brought from the machine and zipped it shut. He shook it around in his hands to even it out and placed over Seth's back, covering up the sore spots in his wings, earning him a sharp intake of breath at the chill from Seth and a gentle, almost thankful, fluff from the wings.

"Better?"

Seth nodded, breathing out and seeming to melt into the sheets. "Yeah. So much better."

He was stretched out on the bed closest to the bathroom, shirtless with the wings out, covered in four ice bags to relieve the ache in his wings from the match he'd had. He didn't harbor any animosity towards Jimmy (or whichever twin that was; he gives up) because he hadn't known of the two weird reasons for caution sticking out of Seth's back, but that didn't make him any less grumpy towards him. Roman had apologized on his cousin's behalf, but it wasn't really necessary; the feelings weren't _too_ hard.

"I'm surprised you actually got these things to fit into your gear, man," said Dean, poking at one of the Ziploc bags whose contents had already begun to melt. "They're fucking huge."

Seth grunted in reply, head still buried in his arms.

They had started to gain some color, turning a gentle fawnish color that Seth was sure would deepen into a more golden shade as time went on, and especially black in some patches nearest the tips. It almost seemed like the wings were trying to mirror Seth's hair, and he thought that was pretty cool. He was just excited to see what they came out looking like.

They were gonna be so sick.

The sound of a key card sliding into the door signaled Roman's return with more ice and a few moments later, he dropped the bucket back onto the desk next to the opened box of Ziploc bags. He flopped onto the other bed and turned on the TV, remote in hand and said, without looking away from the screen, "How're you holding out, man?"

Seth blinked. Hadn't realized he'd been nearly dozing. Why was he always so tired suddenly?

"I'm fine. Pretty starved, though."

"Ditto. I went to go get the ice, so…"

Roman looked expectantly at Dean.

Dean returned the stare just as intensely.

Seth raised his head slightly. "Well, I'm not going."

Dean rolled his eyes finally and stood from his perch on the edge of the bed. "Fine," he said, "but I'm getting what I want and if you don't like it, then that'll just be too fuckin' bad."

Roman and Seth gave a chorus of responses to let him know they'd heard and went back to loafing. The last thing Seth heard as he began dozing again was Dean's muttering under his breath and the door slamming shut.

.

.

Seth dreams again.

He dreams of an empty plain made of slate grey concrete. He doesn't question where the grass is, or why the plain is made of stone; he simply stares up into the bright, blue expanse of sky yawning above him. Puffy white clouds drift lazily across, and somewhere off in the distance, Seth can hear the reassuring sound of buzzing.

The symphony of silence.

Seth isn't wearing a shirt. He's barefoot and his toes are kind of cold against the slate, even though the sun is shining down over the plains. He spreads the wings on his back, rolls his shoulders a bit, and walks across the ground. He breaks into a sprint then, and jumps into the air.

He's flying.

His wings beat hard, carrying him up higher and higher into the sky with each powerful flap. As Seth ascends, he pierces the clouds, the beat of his wings dispersing them as he arrows through them. He presses harder, feels the warmth of the sun beckoning to him. It's like bursting through tissue, soft tendrils of white brushing against his skin, and then it's gone.

Seth breaks through to the top of the clouds, seeming to float on top of them, alone at the top of the world with only the golden sun as his audience. It's amazing, to be the only one able to gaze at the sun from the precipice of the world, soaking in the golden glow of the sun, breathing in the fresh air. He wants to be here forever.

The moment he thinks it, Seth turns cold. Something very cold washes over him and suddenly, the skies are graying. The blue gives way to black and the sun is washed away like night, though there isn't a star in the sky. He freezes momentarily, it's so cold. His wings stutter and Seth plummets. He isn't fast enough to right himself and crashes down through the clouds, quick and tumultuous like a lightning strike. The slate plains are close, closer, closer.

And Seth can't stop, _can't stop, oh shit, oh shit oh_-

.

.

Seth makes a weird noise and jerks his head up, wide awake.

Roman is standing over him, something clear in his hand, watching him with curious grey eyes. "What's up, man?"

Seth shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You need a minute?" Roman asks. Seth finally turns his head to see him and finds one of the Ziploc bags in his hands. The ice has completely turned to water. "Yeah. Just a bad dream."

Roman snorts. "Yeah, I'll say."

Seth raises a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"You started murmuring," Roman explains, "_'it's so warm'_, and I thought that meant you were hot, so I turned on the AC. Then you quieted down for a bit, but after that, you started spazzing out in your sleep, and I heard you go, '_no, no_,' so I turned it off. That's when you woke up."

Oh. Well that explained the chill.


	7. Near Death Learning Experiences

One thing about these types of hotels in the bigger cities full of tourists was that they stood pretty high off the ground to accommodate all those people. It just so happened that in this hotel most of the roster was staying on the floor four levels below the roof.

So pretty high off the ground.

Seth liked being this high up though. He liked being able to see the city skyline from his room's balcony at night, see all the lights dotting the darkness like stars on earth. He thought it was beautiful.

He stood there now, on the balcony, rocking back and forth on the already squeaky balcony rail, watching the city of Anaheim at night. He didn't mind the slight nighttime cool that brushed across his bare upper body, and it didn't seem to bother him that he was standing there with his wings out on display. After his dream, he'd needed some air and had stepped out on the balcony for some, because Dean still had not returned with dinner (seriously, what the heck was taking him so long?). He would just let Anaheim's cool nighttime environment buzz quietly under his feet for now.

He leaned forward against the rail. It squeaked under his grip and weight but held, which Seth seemed oblivious to. The gentle breeze brushing by coaxed his wings into spreading out a little, rustled the feather and Seth's hair. If it had been a warm night, this would have been completely perfect, but the wind and open sky seemed to have a hold on him nonetheless. He leaned forward a little more, a little more…

In the sharpest of squeals the rail surrendered, popped loose, and broke apart.

Seth fell over the edge, the rail plummeting with him.

.

Roman reentered the room, towel in hand and the black sweatpants he slept in hanging low on his hips. He'd been in the shower for all of fifteen minutes, enough time for Seth to wake up fully, pace the room and finally wander out onto the balcony, and was just now notified of the rather loud squeak of metal coming from somewhere in the room. Seth wasn't usually accident prone, and the hotel was fairly nice, there shouldn't have been any shitty, faulty appliances installed there, so the sound was uncharacteristic.

"Hey, Seth?"

The talking heads keeping up noise on the television and the quiet whisper of the night air gently tossing the sheer curtains that covered the balcony window were the only sounds that greeted him. He frowned. He hadn't heard the hotel room door open or close, so Seth hadn't left the hotel room. Roman crossed the floor to the sliding window and pushed it back, feeling sick as his imagination wandered to dark places, untangled the still waving sheer curtains.

The white balcony rail was gone. Only two of the support rods were still connected to the balcony itself; the rest of it, and Seth, was gone.

"Oh, fuck."

Roman, not the best when it came to heights, took small steps towards the edge of the balcony. He knew that if Seth was down there, he would already know what to expect when he saw him splattered against the concrete; why was he doing this to himself? His toes had already met the edge of the balcony now. He looked over…

_whoosh!_

He was pretty sure the blur was screaming as it surged by.

Seth was just a dark spot in the sky by now; Roman could even see the outline of his wings against the little sliver of moon hanging in the dark sky. He thought about calling out to him, but there were people in the rooms next to theirs, and the last thing he needed was to attract attention to Seth while he was flying around in his jeans. Seth flapped around like a bat in the dark for a little bit and then came zooming back towards the balcony so quickly that Roman thought he might crash into the window.

Seth almost missed the balcony, overshot by a floor or two. He stopped, like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been pulled taut, hovering in front of the balcony for a single second before actually touching down on the concrete. He stumbled a little, waving his arms a little as the breeze threatened to give the extra gentle push that would send him hurtling back down again. Roman reached out and grabbed his arm, being nearly dragged over the edge with Seth if he hadn't quickly righted himself (not to mention the few extra pounds he had on the younger of the two that kept him anchored), yanks him further into the recesses of the balcony.

They're mostly silent, _mostly_ for both their hard breathing, as they retreat back inside the hotel room. Seth breathes out a hard laugh, jittery and excited, and drops like a sack of bricks onto the bed, where he wraps his arms around his shoulders and moans.

"You…you were flying," Roman panted, situating himself on the edge of the bed, careful of Seth lying next to the pillows on his side.

Seth moans again. It's just now occurred to Roman that he might actually be in pain.

"Dude, I know," Seth said, turning his face deep into the pillows. "I can feel it. Feels like when you stop working out for a long time and your muscles get all sore and hot."

The wings have been folded slightly, still jutting out from his back. One of them is poking Roman in the back. "How did it feel?"

"What?"

"Flying. What was it like?"

Seth sits up only to switch positions and lie on his right side to face Roman. He's grinning widely when he speaks. "Like floating, but falling really fast. You know when you were a kid and you waved your arms really hard like a bird? It feels like that, or like being on a roller coaster, right? But your feet don't touch anything. It's so cool!" Seth yawns. "I fell off the balcony though. It's broken now. I forgot that I had wings for a moment when I fell; thought I was gonna die."

Roman smirks. "I thought you had hit the pavement. You…they're still so new. How'd you know your wings wouldn't quit on you?"

Seth looks up at him with clear, honest eyes and shakes his head.

"I didn't."

.

When Dean comes back, he finds his two teammates sprawled on one bed, Seth partially hidden under his massive wings, and Roman lying halfway off the end of the mattress. Dean shrugs, places the takeout boxes on the table by the television. He was actually supposed to take the couch tonight, but he's okay with having the whole bed by himself.


	8. Baby Bird

Seth is getting used to being miserable.

His back is aching when he wakes up the next morning, like he's been run over by a truck or someone's been dancing on his spine and shoulders. He's been curled up in a little ball at the top of the bed, stretches gratefully and grimaces as his wings flap gently. They must be waking up, too. He moves as quietly as he can so as not to wake Roman, who is still lying awkwardly the end of the bed, and pads across the floor to the bathroom.

Apparently, Dean returned later that night and had taken the other bed, left dinner sitting out on the table and didn't even bother to wake the others. Seth wonders if he can use up all the hot water in their unit before Dean wakes up. He's sure as hell going to try to.

He's surprised he's even moving as efficiently as he is right now, especially feeling as stiff and sore as he is. He turns on the hot water in the shower, strips out of his jeans and leans against the wall while the steaming water pelts against his skin. His wings flutter gently every so often under the spray, and Seth wonders if it's really okay to let them stay under the water like this. The feathers won't dry out and fall off?

Like magic, the tense soreness like cement stuffed into his shoulders dissipates as the shower goes on. Seth almost forgets to actually wash his body the entire time he's under there, until there's a banging on the door.

"Are you almost finished? Some of us have to shower too."

It's Roman. He sounds like he's going to fall asleep on his feet, pawing at the door with his huge, heavy hands. Seth replies back, finishes up his shower properly, and finally gets out. He picks at the feathers in the mirror once he's dried off. They're silk soft, a little damp, look a little darker since being wetted under the water. The bathroom isn't big enough for him to sweep his wings to their full width. He wonders if he should towel them off.

It has occurred to Seth that he knows next to nothing about birds.

.

Seth is perched on the balcony again, watching the birds in the sky. Breakfast is a peanut butter and jelly Quest bar that he munches thoughtfully. It's supposed to be a training day today. The thought of a visit to the gym doesn't quite excite him as much as it usually would, which he can kind of understand.

He wants to try flying again. He kicks his legs back and forth from where he's hanging them over the side of the balcony. He's dressed in a pair of his usual work out shorts and a Black Flag t-shirt, hair pulled back in a messy knot. The morning breeze brushes past and he wiggles his bare toes in the cool air.

'_This is nice_,' he thinks. '_Maybe this isn't so bad after all_.'

Someone swears close by. Seth looks up to see a startled Daniel Bryan standing on the balcony next to his holding a cup of the shitty hotel coffee in his hand. It looks like he's still in his pajamas.

"Morning."

Daniel laughs nervously. "Yeah…morning."

Seth thinks he's seen his wings poking through his shirt and presses them a little tighter to his body, but Daniel adds, "That's kinda dangerous, you know? Sitting on your balcony like that when it's broken?"

.

.

Seth talks the others into ditching the gym and helping him teach himself to fly. Dean accepts all too quickly. Roman rolls his eyes and suggests some place secluded.

They go to an abandoned parking lot.

Seth grins as he takes in the crumbling, decayed scene around him. He remembers his dad taking him to a parking lot to practice his driving skills when he'd first gotten his learner's permit as a scrawny fifteen year old. His workout bag is slung over his shoulder, filled with the usuals: two towels, an extra pair of shorts and a shirt, his water bottle, spare socks and laces.

"Well, we don't look shady as fuck," Dean deadpans as he eyes the cars passing the far side of the fenced up parking lot. Of course there is a street being used on the other side of the fence. Maybe no one will really notice. Seth wiggles out of his shirt, tosses it into his bag. He begins rolling his shoulders, warms up like normal, aware of the others watching, paying extra attention to the way his wings move against his shoulders. Seth had never really been fond of people staring at him, though he can't really blame his friends given the circumstances; he would probably be snapping pictures with his phone if the wings had been attached to anyone else's back.

Seth tries hovering a little. He at least tries to get off the ground a few inches, doesn't want to overexert himself. It takes more energy to stay aloft in one place rather than flying around, and Seth has to constantly beat his wings to keep the distance off the ground that he has gained. He thinks he's gotten a better understanding of how his wings work now: they're like arms. As big as they are, they still have to keep all of his body weight aloft, like the way pull-ups work. Until now, Seth had never really considered them a part of his body like arms and legs; he saw them more as weird, celestial things that suddenly appeared on his back one day. They were an extension of himself, which was why he could feel the pain in his shoulders when he worked them too hard, or control them with the same ease it took to lift his arms, or why they always reacted the way they did when he stretched. They moved naturally with him because they were him.

Like big arms attached to his back. What a weird thought.

He tries this a few times, hovering in the air for a few minutes at a time, and then dropping back to his feet. It looks like he's just jumping up and down, getting caught in the air mid-jump every time. Dean watches from the trunk of the rental car, following Seth's movements with intense blue eyes that Seth eventually addresses.

"Are you going to say something or what? You're just staring at me, and its freaking me out."

"Do you ever think about where they came from?" Dean says suddenly. Seth doubles over, placing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. The hovering on its own is a work out. "I mean, how does a human suddenly sprout wings? You weren't tested on as a baby? Didn't get pecked by a radioactive robin?" Dean continues.

Seth grinned, breathing out a laugh. "I'm pretty sure the answer's no."

"Why don't you just fly? Like really soar through the skies?"

"Well, he did," interjects Roman leaning against the side of the car with his arms folded, "last night. He broke the balcony rail and fell over the edge. Scared the hell outta me."

Seth gives him a look while Dean's eyes go wide.

"So that's what happened to the balcony? And I missed your first flight? See, this is why I didn't want to be the one to go get dinner; I always miss the cool stuff."

Seth smiles at Dean's disappointed scowl, honestly warmed by his obvious enthusiasm and excitement at seeing him fly. It's kind of…endearing. He stretches gingerly again. "Yeah, well, I'm certainly feeling it today. I could barely get out of bed."

Dean and Roman exchange banter while Seth tries again. He manages to hold himself in place for almost five minutes the last time, the last before Dean tells him, "I'm serious. You should go be free. Fly like the free bird you are."

Seth frowns. "I'm not a bird. And what if I'm not strong enough yet? What if I fall out of the sky?"

"What if it turns out to be fucking awesome? What if you soar like the majestic eagle I know you can be?"

"I don't want to try just yet," Seth says, though he doesn't deny being a _majestic eagle_. "And I _definitely don't want to try over a bed of concrete_." Obvious sinister black top is sinister.

Dean fixes him with another unreadable blue-eyed stare, intense and unrelenting. Seth hates it when he does that; it's unnerving as hell to be the focal point of Dean's intensity, and it's the man's best negotiating/threatening technique. He tells himself he won't crumble under the obvious goading; there is no way he's going to become a modern-day Icarus and stupidly kill himself just because Dean _looked at him funny. _He wants to tell him that. He tries to. But the minute he opens his mouth, Dean stands clear of the rental car, cocks his arm back and leverages an object into the air.

Seth has no idea what it is until he remembers that he left his phone on the tailgate with Dean to limit distractions.

The thing in the air glints metallically. And Dean has quite an arm; he can throw. _Hard_.

Seth doesn't even get a running start. He just jumps and flies into the air, hand outstretched and catches his phone, landing a few feet away from the parked car. He was so high into the air that Roman and Dean looked like little clay dolls, and Dean had thrown straight up. Seth frantically checks to make sure that his phone is okay, hears Dean laughing in the shade of the open tailgate.

Fights him while Roman rolls his eyes at their antics.


	9. Soar

Locker rooms.

Right after a match, Seth swears Creative hates him. Or maybe it's the universe.

He arches his back and pops the vertebrae out, sighing loudly as the pressure makes his spine echo. He's sweaty and sore and buzzing with adrenaline, but mostly ready to finally peel out of his damp ring gear and curl up in bed and sleep for a year. It's become less of a struggle to get out of his gear without accidentally snagging a handful of wings trying to pull his shirt off, or rubbing the feathers the wrong way when he moves the vest. Seth is practically throwing his clothes off on his way to the showers, walking and pulling his shirt over his head and undoing his belt buckle.

Seth has begun to truly appreciate hot showers for all they're worth.

He stands with his back to the water, soaping up his hair while his wings have a field day under the steady stream of hot water, splashing and fluttering in the little shower stall. It is then when he wonders if they need to be shampooed the way his hair did. He moves to apply a dollop of shampoo (its smells lavender hibiscus-y, just the way Seth kind of likes) to his right one, when he rolls his eyes and instead puts it in his hair. What was that about ducks having waterproof wings? Or that really old saying about water rolling off a duck's back? They probably didn't need him to do anything other than hold them under the water for a bit to get clean.

He should really look into bird hygiene.

He promises to do it after he gets to the hotel.

Smackdown is in Salt Lake City this week, which Seth is pretty much indifferent to. He kind of misses the Anaheim skyline already, has a sentimental spot for it in his heart now since it was the first town that he ever flew in. It was on this very skyline that he very nearly cracked his head (and the rest of his body) open on the sidewalk under his balcony before he remembered to use his wings to fly up. As far as he was concerned, he and Anaheim were tight.

Seth exits the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, shoulders involuntarily trembling as his wings shake themselves of water. Times like this, they move on their own like instinct. Other times, Seth has to make them move, the same way he makes his arms and legs move. It's… interesting.

He weaves between the lockers and takes a seat on the bench, where he finds Dean rummaging through one of them. He sniffs the air as Seth walks by. "Smells like flowers." Raises one eyebrow at Seth.

"It was the only thing I had left to work with, stop bothering me." Which isn't even remotely true, and Seth knows it, but Dean accepts the lie and shrugs.

"Whatever, man. We're gonna go grab something to eat from catering. You want-"

Seth yelps, then full on screams.

Dean has slammed the locker door on his wing. The tips of his feathers are caught in the dark green maw of the locker, shut up tight inside. Seth fights back tears as he tries to pull the wing out from its trappings, but only succeeds in making things worse when it begins to feel as though he's pulling feathers out of the wing itself.

"Hold still, I'm trying to open it," Dean tells him. The left wing is beating frantically as though worried for its trapped counterpart, and when Dean finally gets the locker open and the right wing is free, they both inspect the feathers. It curls towards Seth as if seeking his protection. He holds the injured feathers in his hand, biting his lip. It's bent and crumpled where they got caught in the door, some poking at an odd angle, like stray hairs. Definitely fucked up.

"Fu-I mean, _frick_, man, why are they so huge and awkward?" Seth whimpers. Seriously, when was he ever going to get the hang of these things? Was his life just going to be full of awkward moments and pain from now on?

"Hey-someone in here?"

The sudden voice startles both Dean and Seth and they swivel in the direction of the newcomer. They're somewhere behind the wall of lockers, close. Too close.

Seth squeaks, his wings equally responsive-accidentally batting Dean in the face-and scrambles up from the bench. He's just disappearing around the opposite wall of lockers when the blonde head of Dolph Ziggler pokes its way into view. He looks confused.

"You, um…are you talking to yourself, Dean?"

Dean hears the wet footsteps of Seth retreating back towards the shower area and hopes he can hurry and find a shirt to put on.

"I mean, yeah. Why not? I've got a lot of interesting things to say."

Figures they nearly get caught by the men's locker room's biggest gossip. The only person in the entire roster who rivaled Dolph was Nikki Bella, and that woman was a dirt-digging expert. She could probably give most of the those dirt sheets Vince hated so much a run for their money if she really tried, and together, she and Dolph could probably plant a garden big enough to feed a small community with as much dirt as they had on people. If he'd seen Seth, everyone would have known about his wings before he even walked out of the building that night.

Dolph shakes his head, shrugs. "You do you, man." And disappears towards the shower area. Dean pricks his ears for the sound of Dolph shrieking in shock as his footsteps recede into the area. He waits a few moments.

A moment later, he hears Dolph say, "Oh, hey, Seth."

Like nothing had even happened. Seth comes padding around the corner in a faded obscure band t-shirt that Dean notices is on backwards and sloppily thrown on. Seth breathlessly grins, throws Dean a thumbs up. "Just made it."

.

.

Seth arcs straight up and corkscrews. He can hear whoops and hollers from below and surges forward with each powerful beat of his wings. He's flown so high up that the ground below looks like child's playset, slivers of the downward breeze tossing his hair over his shoulders and flattening it against his back. Now comes the fun part.

Seth stalls, twists in midair and falls back to earth headfirst.

He's become a bit of a daredevil with his flying now. It's been about a week; all his free time goes towards learning how to use his wings, and he's become quite good at it. It's kind of like the times when he's flinging himself off the turnbuckle at his opponents; once he realized that it was a little like jumping off the turnbuckle with a longer way to fall, it wasn't so bad after all. A little part of him knew exactly what to do.

_One-one thousand…two-one thousand…_

Seth times the seconds before he hits the ground, reveling in the adrenaline pumping through him as he dives down in total freefall.

_Three-one thousand….four-one thousand…._

Now Seth snaps open his wings and banks up just before he reaches the tree-line-so that it looks as though he's just flown in a giant J shape-where he gently flaps down to the ground and settles with a soft flapping of his wings.

"Show off," Dean mutters goodnaturedly as he approaches Seth with Roman in tow. Seth grins and goes through his ritual of cooling off, rolls his shoulders and accepts the towel Dean throws at his face. "It was kinda cool though, huh?" he says wiping down his brow with the towel. Roman throws an arm over his shoulder then and tells him, "Hey, look up here," and suddenly there's a front-facing camera hovering over them. Seth barely manages a smile before the picture gets taken and Roman instantly pulls away.

Roman's been taking selfies of himself and Seth (sometimes Dean if he be caught or bribed-usually bribery is a better shot because is far too sneaky to be caught on camera unless he wants to be, and even bribery doesn't get him to actually smile for the photo) after every flight recently. Unbeknownst to Seth, there are a few shots of him flying in the sky, or taking off or landing. They were actually quite good considering the phone's camera quality.

Seth has been practicing his flying for a week and it shows on most of his body. He has a scrape on his left knee, spanning the entire expanse of his kneecap and all the way down his shin that came from a rather awful landing in a parking lot. There's a purple bruise painting his hip and thigh that grew from accidentally slamming into the side of the rental car when he came in for landing too quickly. Once, on a windy day, he'd nearly gotten blown away like a plastic bag in the breeze when he was standing there with his wings wide open, and Roman had to grab him before he was dragged right off the building (they'd been practicing on a building, since there wasn't a park nearby), which is where the bruises around his wrist came from.

Today, they'd found themselves in the depths of a park in Ohio. Of course, they hadn't been ditching every gym session that week: Seth's conscious just wouldn't let him. Training was his sixth sense. It was a bit of a journey trying to train his body to exercise its normal gym routine with two wings stuck to him, but like all things, Seth was adaptable, and was slowly learning to master it.

"Hey," Dean tilted his chin up at Seth, "you know what would be fuckin' awesome?"

Seth fidgeted. Dean's definition of awesome was so different from Seth's that it was scary. "What?"

"If you could, like, lift me. Into the air. While you're flying."

Somehow, Seth is talked into doing so. He hovers in the air and stretches out his hands for Dean, who grabs on and waits. He's a few pounds heavier than Seth, but that's to be expected-both Dean and Roman are bigger and heavier than Seth. Seth lifts up, even manages to get Dean off the ground, before he pitches forward. He and Dean go flailing forward into the grass, a pile of flapping wings and arms. Seth sits up first, rubbing at his shoulder and wincing through his teeth.

"What the hell did you do to me, man?"

Dean sits up then, scrubbing grass out of his hair with his hand. "I didn't do anything, dumbass. You're the one who dropped me. You got me an inch into the air and then messed up."

"Well, you know, it's kind of hard to keep myself aloft with a brick like you hanging on too. And anyway, I'm more fast than strong."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think you're fast enough with those chicken wings on your back?" He smirked and leaned forward on his palms. "You ever been to my house before?"


	10. Golden Boy

Las Vegas.

"Makes sense," Seth says, staring at the expanse of desert outside the outskirts of the city that Dean calls home, "that you live in the seediest city in the States. It was made for you."

Dean snorts and sands his hands together. "The seediest cesspool. But that's beside the point. Stop distracting me; you know why you're here."

Seth nods slowly and swipes at his hair stretching over his shoulder. He's wearing a baseball cap backwards and a concert tank top that make his wings slightly visible from the sleeves. "I know exactly why I'm here with you in this dirty place on my day off instead of sleeping in at the hotel."

"So I can outgun you with this beauty," Dean thumped his hand across the hood of a vintage Mustang, shining cherry red in the sunlight. "In the middle of the desert so no one else has to see you lose."

Seth smiled, toeing out of his shoes and pulling off his shirt and hat. He liked to fly barefoot, liked the way the breeze raced across his bare skin whenever he flew as fast as he could, and always felt like he could fly just a little faster with as few articles of clothing on as possible. Not that he would fly around completely naked, it was just that he felt freer this way.

He nods at Dean's Mustang. "You seem really sure of yourself."

"Damn right, I do. This here's my baby. Never disappointed me once; don't think she'll do it this time," Dean said, leaning back on the hood. Seth threw his discarded clothes in the back and began stretching his arms and legs and shoulders. "You ever hear the saying '_never say_ _never_?'"

Dean rolls his eyes and rounds the front of the Mustang to the driver's side.

"Fuck off."

Dean starts the engine and lets it rumble till it's fully awake. Seth pokes his head into the passenger's side window. "Start on three, right?"

"Yeah, three. Race to the old 'See You Soon' billboard about a mile or so out. Hope you're ready- I'm not gonna give you a running start."

Seth nods. "That's fine. I don't need one."

Dean gives him a lopsided grin. "Cheeky little…"

Seth gets into starting position alongside the Mustang, crouching down slightly. He's pretty sure of himself too; he's earned the right to be. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Dean give him three fingers, two, one.

Seth pushes off with his left foot, the farthest foot back, and launches himself into the air, kicking up a cloud of dust as his wings shove downward. He soars upward, flying high enough for the Mustang speeding along the dirt road to resemble a toy car, then dives down and races alongside it. Already, he's doing a good job of keeping up. He isn't close enough to the Mustang to be able to see the speedometer on the dashboard, nor is he on the right side of the vehicle to clearly see it, but he knows the vintage car is pushing about 90 right now. He can feel the engine pumping, like the ragged breathing of a rabid beast, feel its metallic, mechanical heart beating as it roars down the road.

But keeping up isn't enough. Seth has to win.

Seth has gotten the hang of understanding what he needs his wings to do in order to achieve certain levels of flight. He flaps his wings hard, creating thrust forward, taking light, controlled breaths. He has to keep his wings beating; gliding will give him drag. Slow him down. Deeper breaths would slow him down too; he still needed to keep oxygen flowing to his brain and muscles.

Seth knows when Dean has shifted gears in the Mustang; the audible roar of the engine before the vehicle surges forward is the telltale sign. Seth also knows he has to kick it up a notch on his part.

But honestly, he has _no_ _idea_ what is happening now.

It feels like an injection through the heart, like fire shooting through his veins in place of blood. It stings a little bit, burns in the familiar, pleasant way that adrenaline does, but hurts like his heart is literally hammering against his chest. One powerful push from the wings and Seth is ahead of the Mustang; more and more and suddenly the Mustang is humming from behind. He glances back at the vehicle, looks forward again for the old billboard. It's coming up fast, but Seth can't slow down; there's still too much fire coursing through him.

Dean hasn't slowed either. They both gun it for the home stretch, kicking up a small dust storm with the dirt they leave in their wake. Briefly, Seth has time to wonder where all of this energy came from and be both terrified and amazed at it before the billboard whizzes by in a faded blur and suddenly it's only him. He lands awkwardly, the adrenaline high-or whatever the heck that was-leaving him almost instantly, and skids to a stop, his bare feet sliding across the sand and kicking up clouds of dust as high as his waist. He nearly trips and faceplants, but rights himself just in time to stop, stand upright for a full second and then sink gratefully to his knees and gulp in air like it was going out of style.

The purr of the Mustang approaching at a much easier pace creeps up behind him, accompanied by an eventual death of the engine and the sound of a car door opening. He can hear Dean racing across the dirt at him and vaguely recalls the speedometer in the Mustang. He wonders briefly how fast they were both traveling and asks himself if he is brave enough to try it again.

_…eh, maybe not so soon._

"Shit, dude, are you okay?"

Seth's arms and legs are shaking, as they would once adrenaline wore off. He turns and looks up at Dean, who has a million different emotions playing across his face at once, genuine concern and awestricken wonder being the most recognizable. Seth nods slowly, hesitantly; he still hasn't caught his breath yet. So much for controlled breathing.

"Y-yeah…I'm okay." He pauses. "You look spooked."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Seth said, really just wishing to lie down flat on his back and rest his lungs and wings and _everything_. "What do you mean?"

Dean shrugs, still looks at a loss for words.

"Unless you were holding back that whole time, you just took off on that last stretch like you had rockets strapped to you or something. And you…didn't look like you."

Seth narrowed his eyes, feeling dead tired after his mysterious adrenaline high. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gold. Your eyes, I mean," says Dean, staring at him hard. "They were bright gold."

.

.

Seth pulls down the bottom lid of his eye, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Brown. Just brown. Not a hint of gold found within them, but Dean swears up and down that they had been bright, iridescent gold at some point while he was in flight. Of course, he could've been exaggerating, but there wasn't much keeping Seth's weird transformation from getting any weirder with yellow eyes. Maybe it was just a trick of the light? It was pretty bright out. One thing was for certain, Seth had never flown that fast before; it was like his body had kicked itself into overdrive or something. He hoped that it wouldn't happen too often without him being able to control it, like during a show or when he was walking around somewhere.

Raw is in Vegas this show. Fun.

Dean lived there, so he opted to just stay in his apartment rather than a hotel. Roman and Seth had the luxurious option of staying in a room in the city, which Seth decided wasn't all that bad. Vegas was a city full of colorful characters; he'd counted, like, _five_ people walking around on the street wearing fake angel wings and white clothes with halos, several with devil costumes, and far too many with an ungodly combination of crazy colors and scanty outfits. Street personalities, he hoped; if the people of this city _actually_ dressed like that, Seth would've had a much harder time getting used to Las Vegas. It was worth noting though, that if he did happen to let his wings slip out, it wouldn't be too surprising to the people here. That was their norm anyway. If anything, they would probably think the wings were really awesome well-made fakes.

"Do these look gold to you?" Seth asks, cornering Roman in the main area of their hotel room. Roman looked up from his phone, shifting his position on the bed to sit straight and see Seth's eyes better. He squints up at him, shakes his head. "Nope. They're the same mud brown they usually are."

Seth frowns, unconsciously rubbing at his eyes with his palms.

"Why would they be gold?" Roman asks. He's directed his attention back towards whatever is on his phone. Seth shrugs, lying on his stomach on the other bed, his wings fluttering gently in the AC current. "Dean and I raced earlier. He said when I looked back at him, my eyes were gold. I've never flown that fast before."

Roman glances up from his phone momentarily, but otherwise seems unfazed. "Well."

"That's it?"

"Well, I mean, after your best friend grows wings overnight, golden eyes aren't exactly the weirdest thing that you can come to the table with," Romans says. Now that he's said it and Seth thinks about it, Roman's probably very right. Roman taps something out on his phone and asks without even looking up, "What do you want to get for lunch? I'm feeling like buffalo wings-"

Roman trails off and purses his lips, giving Seth a tentative sidelong glance. Seth is giving him death glares, looking very unamused.

Roman goes back to looking through his phone.

"Sorry."


	11. How to Bond With Your Human

Hey, lucky, you! You got two chapters tonight! This one's kinda short, which is why I've gone ahead an uploaded it. Enjoy!

-AC

_._

_._

_"And when we're done humbling you, I'm gonna move on to the Architect of the Shield, Seth Rollins."_

Promo night. Triple H is on the spot right now, Orton and Batista to his right and left in the center of the mat.

_"And I'm gonna enjoy pulling that little hummingbird's wings off one by one myself."_

In the monitor room, Seth's hand immediately goes to his back, almost involuntarily. He grimaces even though he knows that Triple H's bravado is all for show, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel any less uncomfortable. He isn't really partial to the idea of his boss pulling his very much existent wings out feather by feather.

Dean nudged him, drawing his attention away from the promotion on the monitor.

"He doesn't mean that," he reminds him, nodding at Seth's hand splayed across his back. Seth shrugs, the wings shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt and vest. "I know, but it still feels like a threat."

He rolls his shoulders, winces slightly at the dull pull in his wings suddenly. It's almost time for their cue.

"You okay?" Roman asks, noting the slight grimace on Seth's face. "Wings bothering you again?"

Seth shakes his head. "Probably just stiff." A stage hand off to the side gives them their cue. Time to rock and roll.

.

.

3:45.

Earlier than normal Seth wakes in complete darkness, growling under his breath as he spies the time on the clock. Decides it's way too early to be up with the pins and needles sensation in his back. The wings are bothering him again; he wasn't able to stay asleep for it. It was like there were tiny bugs pinching his wings everywhere, little pinpricks sprouting all up and down. He held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. "It's too early for this. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Are you still awake?"

A light suddenly appears in between the two beds and Seth can finally see who is talking. Roman sits up, rubbing his eyes in the light of the bedside lamp, swings his legs over the edge of his bed. Seth nods at him, running his hand over his back between the shoulders.

"Yeah. Sorry if I woke you."

Roman shakes his head, waves it off. "'Sup? Wings bothering you?"

Seth nods, a bit sheepish. He really hates having to bother the others with his wing issues. "I don't know why; I thought I was over this once they'd finished growing out." Roman looked up at them in sleepy thought. "A bunch of them are sticking out all over the place."

Seth shakes them out, only opening them up a few inches and picks at some of the tiny offending feathers. "Can you give me a hand? I can't reach the ones in the very back. Roman nods, switches places from his bed to Seth's, sits beside him and attempts to smooth them out. They set about smoothing them back into place for nearly ten minutes before Roman lets out a sigh.

"I don't think this is working. They keep popping back up whenever we push them back down." He gives Seth a once over and adds, "It actually looks kinda gross."

"Gee, thanks, Rome."

Seth frowns at the wings. He hated to admit it but Roman was right; they did look gross. It reminded him of cottage cheese, all clumpy and weird looking, strangely colored in some places. What was happening to them? Had he been wrong about them being fine under water? They weren't molding were they? Would the wings just _fall off?_

Roman, oblivious to Seth's silent freak out, reached up and pulled on one of the little feathers. It came out with little resistance and Seth hadn't even seemed to notice. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"I think some of these little ones are supposed to come out. I just pulled this one out and you didn't even notice." Roman held up the little feather as proof. With a new game plan, they set to work plucking out the feathers that stuck up, smoothing the others out properly. Roman paused to grab the trash bin, where they deposited the feathers, and when they'd established a thorough routine-pluck, smooth, toss-Seth spoke.

"I think I read about this somewhere. This is called shedding, I think? Ah, no-preening. That was it. It's when I have to straighten and clean the feathers and get rid of the ones that are ready to fall out." He inspects a feather and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"Oh. So this is bird hygiene?" says Roman from somewhere behind him.

"Pretty much."

"Wonder what kind of bird you are."

Before he even knows it, Seth has begun dozing off, the gentle tugging on his feathers and the relief that comes after soothing him into a much sought after sleep. Roman sighs after a few moments, rousing Seth, and murmurs, "This is so weird. Never in a million years did I think I would be up at three in the morning preening my best friend."

Seth smirks at the remark. "Yeah? Well, never in a million years did I think that I would be up at three in the morning being preened by my best friend-ow, careful!"

"Sorry, one snagged."

.

.

"What happened in here?"

Seth pokes his head up from the Questbar he's devouring for breakfast in order to greet Dean as he walks in. He's probably come to collect them for morning gym training downstairs in the hotel gym. He looks like he's just walked in on a murder scene.

"Looks like a pillow factory exploded," he continues, shaking a few tiny feathers off from the bottom of his shoe. Seth swallows his mouthful of food and gestures at his back. "Roman was preening me last night and we got feathers all over the place. Oops." He doesn't sound the least bit sorry.

Dean makes a face. "Ew, when you say 'preening', it sounds like something dirty." He cringes, and then it's Seth's turn to make a face. "It's just hygienic," he mutters, taking another bite of his Questbar.


	12. Whirlwind

Ice packs and the Game of Thrones marathon on the hotel's On-Demand listings are all Seth lives for right now. He has appropriated a third of the first bed with only his limp, ice-pack covered wings and the remaining space with his own body, nursing a bottle of Naked juice in one hand and the remote in the other, almost like a statement, daring Dean or Roman to try and take it from him to change the channel. It was a fight they would lose, Seth being slightly incapacitated or not, and they knew it. They'd already tried double-teaming him in an effort to steal the remote back, but Seth is probably the fastest sore person in the world and is way too sneaky to successfully rob.

Seth likes the dragons. Daenarys' three surrogate dragon babies have always been the coolest things to watch fly around, but now that Seth can fly around too, he's been wondering if he can imitate them in real life. His wings flutter softly every time a dragon races across the screen taking note of the flying patterns, almost as if they, too, are trying to match the dragon's flight, though Seth probably doesn't realize that they're doing it. Every time they flap in wistfulness, it catches Dean's attention, who is otherwise trying to doze off on the couch, and he watches them until they stop, then directs his gaze elsewhere; his phone, the ceiling, the front door. Seth catches him staring sometimes, but never questions it; honestly, he's kind of used to Dean being weird. He still doesn't know his wings are spazzing out.

"How do you not get sick of all the bloody violence and borderline pornographic sex?" Roman asks, still powering through the marathon at its seventh episode since Seth's tuning-in. Seth shrugs. "I guess because that's not really the root of it. The whole show is based on the core of human instinct and behavior. We're supposed to be the most civilized species on the planet, right? The most intelligent? We're supposed to be miles above animals in the way of superiority, but we're really not. We fuck and kill and run around like we own the place the same way that animals do. We're just the only race to be caught in denial."

"It's a peek into what humans are really like: we're all just animals. It's actually super interesting." Seth pauses and adds with a boyish grin, "And the fights scenes are pretty damn amazing."

Roman shakes his head. "I didn't ask you to write me a research paper. I just wanted to know why everyone you love dies on this show and why I have to look at so many boobs in one sitting."

-8-

He's only dreaming.

The ground is above him, cold, gray and upside down. Seth is…falling? No, suspended above the ground, hanging up by his feet it seems, but he can't feel anything that might reassure him around his ankles. Something crunches.

Seth knows that sound. He's heard it a fair amount from others unfortunately on the receiving end of some dangerous stunt and even from his own body. It's a chalky, jagged sort of crunching sound, like a tree-branch snapping, or shattered glass being crushed underfoot.

It's the sound of bones breaking.

Seth can feel it before he even looks to see where the noise is coming from. Pain shooting through him, filling him up with agony, tying him down as he desperately seeks an escape. He wants to move away, fly far away from whatever has his wings in a vice grip and hide, but the pain is immobilizing! He can't even move his arms, or even twist his body out of the grip.

And then the sound of tearing.

_Wake_ _up_ _please_ _God make the sloughing stop_

The sound of skin jaggedly splitting open, bone being popped through and out, dredging up muscle and joints as it is forced from Seth's back. The wings…they're being torn out. Someone's pulling his wings out. Someone's pulling his wings out and the ground is suddenly coming closer!

Its moving, churning and roiling and lapping angrily. Waves? The ocean?

Seth is falling back to earth, towards the ocean. He'll drown. He can't fly. He smells blood. Are there sharks? They'll smell it too, no doubt. He'll be eaten alive. He can't fly can't fly _can't fucking fly! _

_Can't wake up!_

The waves are getting closer. _Come on; wake up!_

He can actually feel the ocean spray against his face now, the waves are reaching up high to catch him.

_Wake-WAKE UP!_

-8-

Seth wakes in a cold sweat, turning in his sheets so suddenly that he nearly knocks the bedside lamp over, sends it crashing to the floor. His wings are steadily dying down in beat, having been startled awake the same as Seth. It's dark when Seth finally gathers his bearings; a quick glance at the digital clock beside the lamp reads 2 am.

He hears light breathing from the other side of the room; how has he not woken Roman with all that noise he was just making?

Seth feels claustrophobic in his cocoon of sheets. They're tangled around his legs like boa constrictors, wrapped around the rest of him and trying to suffocate him. He sighs. He definitely needs to get out of there. He staggers out of bed and throws on a pair of shorts and shoes, grabs his jacket and escapes rather clumsily out onto the balcony, then braces one foot against the rail, spreads his wings and jumps into the night air, flapping over the city streets of Las Vegas.

Unbeknownst to him, down below, returning home after a night on the town with her friends, one Brie Bella stumbles up to the front of the hotel, arm in arm with her sister and Naomi, swaying slightly from a hard shift in Brie Mode. By some stroke of luck, they've managed to bring her back to the hotel in one piece and unscathed, avoiding a near run-in with a car and two near-awful falls. Miraculously.

Somehow, in her cloudy mind, Brie registers the sound of wings fluttering overhead and slowly turns her head towards the sky, turning in her sister's grip, just in time to see the man-shaped figure with wings dart across the moon above.

"It's my guardian angel," she murmurs.

"Did you say something, sis?"

-8-

Seth wakes to concrete below him. Some pigeons stand dutifully over him when he finally opens his eyes in the morning, cooing softly and bobbing their heads back and forth as they wander curiously around him. They've formed a small mob around him, wary of this strange new bird kin that has fallen asleep curled up on their roof, and don't even seem the least bit startled when Seth suddenly jumps up in surprise.

He stares down at the small entourage that has gathered on top of the roof he used as a bed, secretly freaking out because _whoa, don't these things carry all kinds of nasty diseases? And holy shit, did I fall asleep on top of a building with no shirt on? _

Seth is suddenly very aware of his wings out on display and hopes that no one came up to the roof or were watching from a distant building. The pigeons continue their activity of watching him, which Seth finds very eerie. Did they think he was just a really weird looking bird? He tries shooing them away, manages to ward them off for a few moments, but they eventually come right back, seeming to bring more of themselves along with them. Finding no escape from the birds, Seth runs a hand through his hair and yawns, wondering what time it is. It's really not a good idea to be flying back to the hotel in broad daylight, regardless of what hour of the morning it is. Guessing by the commotion coming from the streets below, it was time for work-so, nine-ish then?- if the morning commute noises are anything to go by. People actually had real jobs in Las Vegas? Honestly, Seth had always thought it was an all-the-time party scene here.

He figures he could just take the rooftop stairs down to the ground floor and walk all the way back to the hotel. That would be smarter than trying to fly back, right?

Much to his dismay, the stairwell door is locked. Banging on it to attract someone's attention was a definite no-go. He didn't know what type of building this was; who was to say that there was even someone within hearing vicinity to open the door? And despite having brought his jacket with him, he still wouldn't be able to totally hide the wings from view without a proper shirt to tuck them into. '_Wow, great going, Rollins. Way to get trapped on top of a building in broad daylight.'_

It had seemed like a great idea at the time; he'd really needed to get his mind off of that dream. It would've been even better if he had avoided falling asleep up here though. He'd just been so damn _tired_ after flying and had dozed off when he had been resting on the roof.

A gentle cooing snaps Seth out of his thoughts. The pigeons have gathered at his ankles, looking expectantly up at him.

"What?" he says. "I don't have any food. I'm not a bird either."

If the pigeons understand, they don't show it. Seth sighs and makes to walk back towards the stairwell. The pigeons dutifully follow at his heels.

"Hey, move it," Seth warns them, picking his feet up higher, "I don't want to step on one of you guys. Don't walk so close to me."

Instead, they all disperse in a grey cloud, feathers flying and beating around Seth's head as they surge up into the air. It takes Seth a moment to realize what has happened and process the distinct sound of whirring blades above him. Ah, _fuck._

He dares to turn around, only slightly, just enough to see the helicopter nearing the building, the distinct shape of a camera attached to the front of it. A morning news crew doing live aerial coverage, of course, and it's more than safe to assume they've already seen Seth. He can see the newscaster through the windshield as the approach, pointing in his direction, and panic swells within him. _Fuck._

Guess he'll have to fly after all.

Seth bolts towards the edge of the building in the opposite direction of the helicopter and jumps off the edge. He veers around the corner, heading back the way the helicopter came, disappearing just as the helicopter buzzes over the edge of the building in pursuit. They continue this method, Seth just barely staying out of the helicopter's sight and the helicopter chasing his tail, winding around the building, until Seth breaks off and darts behind another, smaller building to hide. From there, he does his best to outrun the helicopter following suit, always a few steps ahead of it until he sees his hotel looming in the distance. He's careful to fly quickly enough to be undistinguishable should the camera get close enough, and when he reaches the hotel, he winds the building again to throw the helicopter off his trail, and with a few moments to spare-_damn it, he forgot what floor his room is on!-_lands on someone's balcony. He haphazardly throws on his jacket, zipping it all the way up and pulling the hood over his hair just as the helicopter appears around the corner.

Seth keeps his head down, trying to look as casual as he can by leaning against the railing and pretending to be interested in something on his phone (which he forgot to bring. It's probably still burrowed in his sheets). The helicopter passes by without noticing and continues over the skyline. Once it's gone, Seth finally lets himself exhale and sets to work coming up with a new plan. No flying this time. He looks up at the door of the balcony he's hiding out on and really hopes that someone is on the other side.

He's seriously going to have some explaining to do.

Thankfully, after knocking on the glass door a few times and finally receiving a cautionary peek from the woman inside, he's let into the room. He also notices that, before the door slides open, he can see his reflection in the glass; his eyes are slowly returning to their usual brown. Seth hopes the woman didn't see them and apologizes for startling her and probably waking her up, even though it looks as though she's just finished having a shower. She doesn't question why this strange man was standing waiting to be let in from her balcony, just nods rather dumbly and lets him out through her front door. Seth tries his best to ignore the not-so subtle sweep of his body she gives him with lustful eyes as he edges past her and out into the hall.

Room number 328. That's his room. Why couldn't Seth remember that when he was trying to find it? He's forgotten his room key; he only realizes this as he approaches his door. He really hates to wake Roman, it's probably safe to assume he's awake by now, but Seth keeps his knocking to a minimum just in case. Waking Roman, even though he was the most level-headed of the three, could still be compared to poking a bear with a stick; it simply was not done, not so much out of courtesy, but for the safety of those around him. He woke up on his own time, _thank you very much_.

Seth only gets three knocks in before the door is opened by a fully-dressed Samoan holding a coffee cup. "Where'd you go?" is the first thing out of his mouth. He sidesteps so that Seth can come inside, continuing, "I tried calling you, come to find out you left your phone in your sheets. You look like you slept on a rock."

"A roof, actually," Seth says, plopping down on his bed and rooting around for his phone. When he finally finds it, the screen announces two missed calls and a text from Roman that reads, _"Where'd u go? Don't come back w/o breakfast."_

"What were you doing on a roof?"

"I flew around for a bit last night and fell asleep on a roof," Seth replies simply, peeling out of his jacket and ruffling his hair. "Then I got chased by a helicopter and had to land on this lady's balcony. Not my best idea."

"Helicopter? You mean like one of those news crew helicopters? They didn't get you on film, did they?"

Seth shrugs, notices the time on the bedside clock and groans. "Today's moving day, isn't it?"

Roman grins and ruffles Seth's already messy hair. "Yup. Chicago, here we come."


	13. Summer Storms

He doesn't show it, but Roman worries about Seth in the ring sometimes. He worries over both of his brothers-Dean being the reckless hardhead and Seth, the risk-taking dumbass who would probably fling himself off the roof of the arena if he thought it made him look cool-but the wings have become a part of the trio too, and as a part of this lopsided family, Roman freaked out about their well-being too. He winces noticeably at the dull thump of Seth hitting the corner of the ring poles with the back of his head and frowns as he drops to the floor like a brick. Batista doesn't know that Seth has…issues? with his shoulders-two very important and fragile issues-but still, it would be nice if he didn't throw Seth around the ring like a broken toy.

Seth can take a beating, he knows that. Everyone knows that. But could the wings? Not so much. This isn't a tag team match. Dean and Roman are just there for moral support; Seth is on his own.

There's a lump the size of a goose egg forming on the back of his skull-for a moment, after impact, he swore he could see stars-and his back, down the spine, is killing him. Definitely going to be an ice pack night. Seth has thrown himself from the top rope, hit and missed an equal number of times, been tossed around the and into the announcement table, turnbuckles and the barricades, smacked across the floor after a suicide dive that sent both himself and Batista sprawling, and the match isn't even over yet.

His back is sore, not the pleasant kind of sore that comes after a vigorous workout or a job well done; this is the wrong kind of sore, hot, heavy and fucking aching.

He's pretty sure he's become a breathing rainbow tonight. The match was scheduled for at least a fifteen minute-long slot, and already ten minutes in, Seth has been grey and pale and is willing to bet black and blue and purple along his back. He only has to hold out for five more minutes, he tells himself, and he staggers to his feet.

In the time he's been gathering his bearings on the ground, he's lost sight of Batista.

Instead of looking around wildly for him, he catches the sound of fabric rustling and metal clanking, and spins around, only narrowly missing the image of Batista lunging from under the ring, and the cold glint of a metal folding chair before it comes down against his chest and shoulder. It's crazy, he thinks, how he used to think the older generation of wrestlers-Batista included- were just very good at playing up pain. They hadn't actually been trying to mortally wound each other out there when they beat each other with bamboo sticks and steel chairs and sledgehammers, right? _Fuck that,_ he thinks now, _they were really trying to kill each other,_ as Batista brings the chair down again across his back. This was hell.

Seth knows he has to do something to save himself, _roll over, stupid-roll over! _But it's kind of hard to move when your entire body is a bruise and the chair whacking against you isn't showing any signs of bending or breaking yet. It barks across his shoulders just once more, the moment Seth knows he can't physically take anymore, before Seth's breath catches in his throat and panic overtakes him.

Something has cracked.

He clamps his lips tight together on a screech and rolls, yelping as his back turns across the floor, and scoots away from the offending object and its wielder. Okay, _okay, okay this is bad, so, so bad._ He knows something cracked-he's had plenty of broken bones as a kid to know when something has cracked like a fucking china vase inside of him. Pain creeps its fingers up his back, weaving through his wings like the currents in a creek. _Oh fuck oh fuck, now what? _

The smartest thing to do would be to call it quits right then and there and get medical attention. It would be okay if the fans booed and got all uppity and disappointed; Seth didn't give the slightest damn about it at the second, _his wings were about to be broken for fuck's sake._

The pain has spread, keeping him anchored to the floor; the only way he's getting up is with Batista's help, which he so _kindly_ offers by grabbing Seth by his hair and tossing him into the ring. Each time his wings make impact with the mat, Seth can feel the fracture giving way and each time, his stomach churns and flips like he's going to be sick. He doesn't remember a broken bone ever making him feel this awful.

He makes it to his knees, finding Batista in his peripheral vision, and then to his feet, a feat in itself as the pain from his shoulders runs through his stomach like a railroad spike. Then Batista has him by the throat and Seth feels himself moving backwards.

Something shatters.

-8-

Dave Batista has always been the type of guy to push himself and his opponents in the way of fighting. He and the other Attitude generation guys have always been drawing blood and leaving bruises and scratches on each other, because, hell why not? They came out here to have fun, right? A good bruise usually meant a damn good time, and blood was only if they got a little crazy. It was good to be a little crazy sometimes.

But these kids. They didn't do any of that, and old habits die hard. Sometimes Batista forgets where he is, he's playing with, and sometimes they draw a little blood, make a few bruises, paint a few black eyes. It's just fun. So he knows pain when he sees it, hears it.

This kid was in some deep shit.

He hasn't heard a scream like that in quite a while.

For a moment, he wonders, actually considers, that something has gone wrong. But by the time the scream dies off into choked wails and then moans, he's already recalled the way he and a few of the others moaned and groaned in the ring after an end-all-be-all match and forgets to give it much more thought. He'd still ask around afterwards, see if the kid wasn't in too bad shape because really, he wasn't that bad a wrestler, but for the time being, he was all but skipping down memory lane, trying to place names and faces to the different screams he's caused over the years.

-8-

Seth is blind.

He can see white, but nothing else really. His ears are still ringing from someone's screaming, and only when he feels weight across his chest does he recognize his own voice in his ears, crying out again. Every vibration from each slap of the referee's hand across the mat sends tremors of pain through his body. He can hear the crowd cheering, some booing, it's a mix of both. Barely recognizes Evolution's theme hitting the speakers.

Someone is patting his face, asking him if he's alright. Does he look _fucking_ _alright_? He blinks, realizes vaguely that he's had his eyes screwed shut tight the whole time and that he isn't actually blind. Roman and Dean's faces swim into view and it's really a wonder that he recognizes them at all, his head is churning so. He can see them looking back and forth from him to each other, talking, and the only thing he can really catch between them is, "…play it cool. I've got an idea."

Roman is addressing Seth now, looking oddly calm despite the obvious worry in his grey eyes. He knows what has happened. Seth is _really_ fucking glad that he told the two of them about his wings now, or else this whole ordeal would've been really confusing.

"We're going to help you sit up. It's gonna hurt, so just…"

Two arms work their way under Seth's shoulders and he nearly bites off his bottom lip trying not to scream. His vision crinkles white at the edges and for a moment he fears a black out. No such luck.

"Okay, alright," Dean tells him. He nods in the direction of the ramp. "If this is going to work, we need you to get out of the ring on your own. Roman's going first, so he'll help you out if it's too much, and then we'll help you up the ramp."

Seth can't really see him, but he recognizes the brewing of a plan when he hears one. He nods, just a twitch of the head, and tries to use as little of his upper body to move across the mat to the ropes as possible. He moves on his knees, forgoing any crawling or scooting for fear of pain shooting through his back again, and it seems as though he'll never get to the ropes. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to raise his arm and move the bottom rope for him to slide under, but Roman is waiting for him and helps pull him out by his upper shoulder, trying to avoid the wings. Dean drops down on the other side of Seth and takes his upper arm to steady him. He has a hell of a vice grip and is hurting Seth, but whatever. Seth is focused on getting out of here. It's almost hilarious how quickly things went from bad to worse in approximately five minutes. Kind of like a summer storm he never even saw coming.

The ramp is an adventure, like climbing a mountain. Seth has never hated it this much. He's barely even walking by the time the trio reaches the gorilla position.

"Hang in there," Dean grunts, pulling him through the hallway. "Just a little longer."

They get past the curious glances of stagehands, narrowly avoid the medic crew by taking a detour behind some equipment crates, and when Seth finally feels like bashing his head against the wall so he can finally be unconscious and free of this (uncharacteristically) awful pain, he's leveraged into the air and is upside down for a few incomprehensible minutes when it finally dawns on him that he has been reduced to potato sack status and has been flung over Roman's shoulder.

He imagines they all look pretty weird, what with two dudes in S.W.A.T. gear jogging through the hall with a guy flung over one of their backs.

Then he remembers, the ringside medical assistance has set up camp in an area they've already passed.

Where are they going?


	14. Let the Right One In

"Where are we even going? We've got an ambulance on-site," says Roman. He's in the passenger's seat, where Dean usually sits. Seth is stretched out in the back, breathing shallow and quick. Dean checks the rearview mirror again for the thirtieth time since the race from the arena ended in the three piling haphazardly into the rental and booking it onto the main road. He checks one more time after that, a slightly crazed look in his eye, like a madman running from the cops, and then replies, "Think about it, man. If they take Seth to a regular hospital, they'll see the wings."

"I mean, yeah, but they might be able to explain why Seth has them in the first place."

"Do you really think he wants to be tested on for bird DNA?"

"So then where are we going?"

Dean turned his head fully and fixed Roman with a deep stare, totally serious. "A vet."

It takes Roman a few minutes to reply to that. "_A what?"_

Dean throws his hands into the air, seeming to have forgotten that he was driving. "A vet, Roman; a fucking vet."

"That's not funny."

"What? I'm not trying to be funny! I'm serious; really think about it: a vet works on animals all the time, right? Who knows how to fix wings better than a vet? Not a fucking ER doctor, you know."

Roman actually cannot believe what he's hearing. Not only is it crazy, but, coming from Dean, it was actually a pretty logical and well thought out plan from a reckless lunatic, which made it insane by default. It's shocking, is what it is. And it just might work.

-8-

Most veterinarian offices were closed at nine o'clock in the evening.

Thank god for Paws and Claws Animal Hospital.

Albeit stupidly named in some people's opinion (Dean), it was the only vet's office still barely open this late. The vet herself had been standing outside, locking up the front doors, so she had seen Dean's manic parking skills firsthand as he stopped the car diagonally in a vertical parking spot in front of the building.

The poor woman must've been terrified when a crazed man is special weapons and tactic gear came barreling out the car and towards her in the late hours of the night. Chicago wasn't known for its friendly nightlife. She might've maced him too, if he hadn't shoved a wad of crumpled ones and a five at her, panting, "Our bird's wings are broken."

The other one, a handsome looking guy standing outside the open passenger's side, rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Please," the crazy looking one continued, "we just need you to set the wings back. He's really hurt and we can't take him anywhere else."

Thank god for big-hearted vets.

The doctor unlocked the doors, told them to bring their bird in with them and retreated inside. Seth was still awake in the backseat when Dean and Roman helped him out and murmured bemusedly, "You told her I was a bird?"

Barely anyone heard him. They dragged him into the office, following the light in one of the rooms at the end of the hall, and had just barely positioned him on the table when the doctor turned around from rifling through the cabinets.

"Is this a joke? I don't treat people here; you said it was _your_ _bird."_

Dean nodded. "This is our bird."

Roman rolled his eyes again.

The doctor narrowed hers. "You're drunk, aren't you? Or strung-out, right?"

Dean groaned loudly. "No! Will you please just…here."

Seth really couldn't find it in him to move and get himself out of his ring gear, which was okay; Dean was already doing a pretty good job of it. The vest came away easily, but the shirt took a little more caution. Persuasion was needed to obtain a pair of scissors from the already reluctant doctor, since it was probably better to cut the shirt away rather than try to take it off regularly. He cut it up the sleeve and down the side so that the remains fell away to one side, and gave Seth the 'okay' to roll onto his side. His back was to the doctor, but as the wings began brokenly unfolding themselves from confinement, Dean and Roman saw everything that she saw.

The foremost joints of both wings had been bent at an awkward angle so that the wings at a whole vaguely resembled an accordion. Like they had been chewed on, gnawed up by some rabid animal. Feathers were bent out of place and sticking up in tufts, some even having come away with the shirt when it had been pulled off. It looked messy, but a lot less horrible than both Dean and Roman had been anticipating.

A strangled sound from the doctor brought attention back towards her. She was staring up at the wings in something that mirrored horror, shock and, Dean hoped not for her sake, disgust.

"What is this?" she gasped, either ignoring or oblivious to the glares Dean was sending her way.

"This is our fucking phoenix."


	15. Broken

Seth's heavy breathing is the only sound in the tiny room.

He jolts when the doctor reaches out and tries to touch the wings, brushing her fingertips ever so slightly through the feathers. She gives a small gasp and whispers almost to herself, "How is this even possible?"

Kudos to her, she hasn't even fainted yet, much to the boys' collective surprise.

"Hell if we know. He just woke up one day and had wings attached to him," Dean answers. Seth keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, pursing his lips and taking sharp unsteady breaths. "Can we please move this along? I'm gonna puke if something doesn't _happen_ _right now."_

The doctor takes a deep breath, clapping her hands together and nodding to herself, a silent pep talk to herself. "Right, right. Let's see," she begins mumbling. She busies herself bustling around the tiny room, opening cabinets and drawers, pulling things out of them and lining them all up on the counter. Dean and Roman try to keep out of the doctor's way as she rounds the table, mumbling like a madwoman.

"Looks like the bones haven't protruded, that's good, we'll need a splint," she gently picks up one of Seth's wings, pursing her lips when Seth grunts, "Sorry. Two splints, two splints, I'm very sorry. Usually, my birds are put under for this kind of procedure because of the risk of them moving too much and injuring themselves further. I don't have anything for humans, obviously. I'm so sorry to have to ask you to endure this while you're awake, but please bear with me. Don't move."

The doctor continues her diagnosis, checking the wings by each segment, though the boys think it's a bit odd that she's running her hands across Seth's chest. She catches them watching and explains herself chastely, "I need to check the humerus and scapula," as though she has forgotten that Seth isn't actually a bird with bird anatomy. "If the humerus is fractured, then there won't be anything that I can do."

She pauses for a moment, then smacks her fist against her palm. "Ah! X-rays," she cries. "That'll get a better diagnosis, I can't quite feel anything under all this muscle." She points at Dean and Roman, "Help me get him to the radiation room."

"You think he'll be okay?" Dean asks once Seth is safely inside the x-ray room. He and Roman are leaning against the wall outside, waiting for the doctor to return.

"He's not dying, Dean," said Roman, rolling his eyes. Dean elbowed him in the ribs. "I know that. I mean, flying-wise. If he'll ever fly again."

Roman nodded slowly, solemnly. "I hate to say this, but this was probably one of your best ideas, bringing him to a vet and all. She'll know what to do for him. He'll be fine."

-8-

Seth was probably about to bite his own tongue off by now, trying his best not to writhe around like he wanted to just jump off the table and die. This was some of the worst pain of his life. He hadn't heard a word the doctor had been saying, though he understood that she had been trying to explain the situation to him. At some point, he was sure he had yelped when she stretched the wings out. He knew that both of his wings were broken and he had gathered that he had to have the wings set back into place, but he only knew that because he'd had enough broken bones to know the procedure. That didn't mean that the broken wings should hurt any less; if anything, it hurt worse!

"Ah, fuck my life," Seth ground out between clenched teeth. The doctor offered him a sad smile, even though Seth couldn't see her. "I'm almost done, hang in there." She didn't tell him, but she had never set wings as big as Seth's, because, well, there were no wings as big as Seth's. She had already used up so much elastic bandage for just the right wing. Thankfully there was no shortage of elastic bandages in the office. "Just a little longer…"

-8-

"It's called a radial fracture. The radius has a clean break, which your friend is lucky for," said the doctor. She was washing her hands at the sink as she spoke over her shoulder. "If the bone had been protruding from any of the breaks he wouldn't have been able to fly again. Usually we have to resort to euthanasia, the bones are unable to be set and won't heal correctly. That means the bird won't be able to fly or survive. It's usually better to just put the poor thing out of its misery."

She finished washing and dried her hands, casting a look at Seth. He'd finally calmed down and was chewing on some Advil, looking half-lidded and exhausted. She's had to tie the bandages in a figure-eight motion across the humerus after setting the bones correctly and making sure the position she'd set the wings in was secure.

"So he'll still be able to fly?" Dean asks. The doctor nods, though she looks a little pale now that the situation has been taken care of. "This is really a lot to take in," she said, rubbing her temples. "How are they real? Where did they come from?"

"That's a good question with no good answer," answers Dean. Seth makes a low noise, the universal sound that translated into 'I don't know'.

"How long until he can take the bandages off?"

The doctor shrugs one shoulder. "Well, luckily, your friend doesn't have any multifragmentary fractures-that would take about seven weeks-but since this is a normal break, he should be able to take them off within the next three to five weeks."

It may as well have been a death sentence.

.

.

Sorry, quite a bit of technical mumbo-jumbo this chapter, and it isn't even very long. But I promise it's about to get very interesting. I'll give you a hint of what's next: the next chapter is named 'Exposed'.

Ciao,

AC


	16. Exposed

"So _now_ what do we do?"

The car ride back to the hotel is strained and stressful. With Seth dozing in the back thanks to some pain medication, Roman and Dean take the job of putting their heads together to come up with a plan. If Seth is going to be out for five weeks in order to heal from an injury no one even knew he had, then they would have to come up with a believable story to keep any curious or skeptical employees and fans from sticking their noses in business that wasn't theirs.

"We could say he's sick or something? Caught some bad shit down in Los Angeles or something like that," offered Dean. "It's pretty fucking gross down there anyway. It wouldn't be suspicious at all."

Roman shakes his head. "If Seth is out 'sick' for five weeks, don't you think Steph and Trips would want to know why he isn't in the hospital? If someone is sick for that long then someone's bound to figure there's something wrong with him," he says, "and if tonight's little escapade has proven anything, we can't take Seth to a hospital."

The car jostles over a bump in the road, and Seth makes a soft noise in the backseat. Roman apologizes quietly, though Seth isn't awake enough to respond. Roman exhales, deciding to drop the conversation for a while. He needed to think to himself. _Damn it all_, this was Dave's fault! Realistically thinking, there was no way Batista should have known that something was wrong with Seth in the beginning and he hadn't been deliberately trying to hurt him, but Roman was already so taut with anger that it didn't matter to him whether or not it was accident. The only thing he knew now, was that it had royally fucked everything up for Seth. He couldn't confront Dave about it; he would only raise his suspicion or risk actually hinting to him that Seth had wings.

This was going to be tricky. There was one idea that stood out in Roman's mind, though it was risky and he doubted Seth would agree at all, and even though it wasn't his issue, Dean would fight with him tooth and nail if Roman ever tried to act on it. It was simple: they would have to come clean.

Seth is still sleeping when Roman stops in the hotel parking lot. The others don't try to wake him fully, just enough to have him walk into the building. Roman supports his side with Seth's arm over his shoulder, trying to keep his pace slow so as not to rush Seth, much as he wants to be up the elevator by now.

"What's on your mind?" Dean asks as they traverse the halls. His blue eyes are trained carefully on Roman, almost as if he can see the gears in the Samoan's head turning. "You're thinking pretty hard over there, huh? And I know the look of a guilty man." He raises an eyebrow at him and slips the card into the lock.

"I'm thinking about how to make sure Seth gets these next five weeks to rest and not worry about anyone finding out about his wings," Roman replies slowly, grunting slightly as he leans down far enough for Seth to reach the mattress without dropping too hard on his back. Seth settles on his side, looking skinny in one of Roman's extra t-shirts and promptly, easily goes back to sleep.

"And the guilty look?" Dean presses on. Roman sets to work untying Seth's boots. It's a stall for time, he knows, but it's kind of futile. Dean won't drop the topic until he's been answered. Roman finally finishes untying both boots and wiggles them off of Seth's feet, tossing them in the direction of his bag by the desk. He spares a long, wistful glance at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and sighs. They had almost an hour before everyone else arrived back.

"Rome," Dean says firmly. He's caught on. Roman looks him in the eye when he speaks again. "We have to tell someone."

Dean's jaw drops. Roman runs his hands over his face, steeling himself for his verbal battle against Dean, and when it comes, it comes full force. Dean throws his hands into the air.

"Who the fuck are we going to tell? Do you realize how bad an idea that is?" he snaps. Roman remains seated on the edge of the bed, one of Seth's legs thrown across his lap as he's abandoned his task of getting his boots off. He gives Dean a calm look as he swears he can see fires licking in his friend's blue eyes.

"No matter who you tell, they're either not gonna believe us or they'll try to expose him like some freak! That's the whole reason why we've been at this cloak-and-dagger shit all this time; to make sure that doesn't happen to him!" Dean continues, pacing up and down the floor. As loud as he's being, Seth is still dead to the world with his face in the pillow. Roman reaches over and turns his head on the pillow so that he doesn't suffocate, momentarily blocking out Dean's rant. When he focuses in on him again, Dean is in the middle of rattling off a list of names for some reason. "…Stephanie, for all her cunning, is totally gonna jump on that shit if we tell her-probably start a whole storyline around that," he says, glaring at the ceiling as he goes. "Dolph and Nikki find out even an inkling about why Seth is out, the whole roster will know he has wings before the hour's even up! Do you get that, Roman? If we tell someone, we'll destroy everything we've worked to keep hidden!"

"We won't tell Steph. You think I don't know she's got a bad habit about that kind of thing? And since when does anyone tell the two biggest gossipers in the company _anything_?" Roman tells him, raising an eyebrow. Of course when he starts talking, Seth stirs in his drugged-up sleep, something that sounds like "Shut up."

"This is for his own good," Roman barely above a whisper, "God forbid anything like this ever happen to him again, but in case it does, we need to have someone on the inside who knows why he's out for so long. I think we can only play the 'sick' card for so long; everyone knows Seth is way too health crazy to be getting sick like that."

Dean looks like he is actually about to breathe fire, or consider murder, curling his fingers and gritting his teeth as though he's throttling some invisible person. He's making a low growling noise that Roman raises an amused eyebrow out; he sounds like an angry hornet.

"Ffff…fine. _Fine_! _Fucking fine_! Let's just tell some fucking stranger then," Dean says loudly, throwing his arms into the air again. He stalks off towards the bathroom. "Just tell the whole fucking world! All the Twitter people and whatever the fuck else!"

Roman sighs and rolls his eyes. Dean has certainly uttered worse, but he really wishes he would keep his voice down for the sake of the people in the room next to them or under them. Seth flinches in his sleep. Roman wonders briefly what he's dreaming about, and then if the pain medicine is wearing off; he'd only had a few tablets of Advil to dull the pain. Roman finishes pulling off Seth's boots and moves his head once more; he's breathing softly into the pillow again, and it's a wonder he hasn't suffocated yet.

.

-8-

Seth dreams of darkness. It's unreasonably dark; he can't even see a hand in front of his face. He can hear voices, muffled, like he's underwater, and they're coming from all around him. He turns a full circle in the dark, searching for something, anything. Is he alone? Are there walls? He reaches out, bracing for something to hold onto.

Something grabs his wrist. It's warm and calloused, like hands. Human hands. Someone is here with him. Seth tries to yank his arm back, but the grip holds strong. Something else grabs his shoulder, and another tugs on his legs. "Stop it," he warns in a stern voice. He feels himself falling, whatever is grabbing his legs jerking them out from underneath him.

Seth's knees crack against the ground, and he feels a pressure against the crown of his head, forcing him to look downward. He's breathing hard, nervous, tight breaths. Someone is touching his back now, feels like a fingernail tracing a shape from both of shoulder blades to the middle of his lower back.

V.

What's that?

Something wet glistens down his back and a cool brush of wind leaves him shivering violently.

And then there's light.

Seth can't see who's behind him, but it sounds like a crowd. An audience with a circle of light pointed directly at his back. Seth, on his knees, can see his shadow looming before him, a puddle of red pooling around his knees. He can feel it, slippery on his bare feet, and the eyes on his back boring hot like cigarette burns. He knows the people behind him can see his wings. He's been exposed.

His shadow is eerie. He can see a silhouette of what are definitely _not_ wings spreading from his back. With shaking hands, he reaches up to his shoulder blades and gingerly runs his fingertips across them.

Or what's left of them.

With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Seth rubs his index and forefingers together, sticky with blood and sinew, and realizes that the skin has been peeled back, sectioned and spread to dry like a smokehouse meat. The voices are loud, almost shouting in Seth's ears, they're so close. His back hurts so bad…

And they've cut him open for the whole world to see.

.

-8-

Seth jerks awake so quickly he disturbs his wings in their adhesive bandages, gasping for air. When the pain of moving so fucking fast like an idiot finally sets in, he curls in on himself, giving a choked scream that isn't answered by anyone.

Seth lies in bed for what seems like ages before the pain finally bubbles away into something manageable, and then sits up and looks around the room with bleary eyes. He could have sworn he'd heard Roman and Dean's voices earlier while he'd been drifting in and out of a sleep fogged by painkillers and simply raw pain. But no one was there.

Rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, Seth blearily spared a glance at the digital clock on the bedside table. Thirty minutes after midnight, yet he was all alone.

The bathroom was empty. The lights and tv had all been turned off. Only the small lamp on the nightstand remained lit. Roman and Dean's bags were still under the sink, but their owners weren't even in the hotel room.

Seth groggily checked his phone, blinking rapidly at the sudden bright white light of an empty inbox that welcomed him. No texts. No notes. Not even a wake-up to tell him where they were going. The dream still lingered on the edges of his memory, just unnerving enough to keep him jittery and awake for a while with the metallic tang of copper in his mouth. He wasn't a fortune teller or anything, but he'd figured that the dreams he'd been having were trying to tell him something, but the question had usually been what. This time, there was hardly any room for confusion: secrets that shouldn't have been exposed were about to come bursting out into the open, ugly and scary and true. A sickening feeling churns in Seth's stomach as he slowly looks around the empty room, almost paranoid that someone's eyes were lurking in the dark corners, waiting to point him out to the world as the freak he was.

Where the hell was everyone?

.

.

Sorry I've been gone for so long. Sorry this chapter is being uploaded so late at night. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to be on hiatus for a few weeks. Gotta get shit done for college in the fall. Anyway, hopefully you won't have to wait for too much longer.

-AC


	17. Covert

Seth was still asleep when eleven o'clock rolled around. For the most part, everyone had already arrived at the hotel; Roman could hear them walking and talking in tired voices as they came down the hallway looking for their rooms. There was only one voice that Roman was listening out for, though he doubted he'd be staying here in the hotel of all places. He was still high-maintenance, regardless of his insertion to the main roster.

Seth continued to twitch in his sleep, making soft noises that sounded very much like pained whimpers. Roman frowned at his friend, wishing he could give him something stronger than Advil for the pain; ordinary ibuprofen wasn't cutting it. Ugh, _where was he_? He should've been there by now! Roman watched Seth sleep for a little while longer and then stood quickly. Grabbing his shoes, he went for the door, throwing it open.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked from the second bed, phone in his hand. "Going to find someone," Roman replies simply, and slips out the door. He doesn't expect Dean to follow him, but as he reaches the middle of the hallway, he hears a door open and some disgruntled grumbling following closer and closer behind him. Roman tries to hide his smug grin as Dean catches up, asking, "Who are we looking for?"

"If he's even here, he'll probably be on the top floor," Roman murmurs, almost to himself. He still hasn't answered Dean's question, and he can feel the intense blue gaze boring into his back. They step into the elevator, punch in the button for the very top floor and ride in tense silence up the last four floors of the building. The entire time, Dean's gaze never leaves the side of Roman's head. He'll probably just stare at him until he gets an answer, and Roman has had plenty of time to perfect his immunity to the glare. He'll get his answer soon enough. Roman openly grimaces when the elevator doors slide open and he steps out. "Come on," he grumbles over his shoulder to Dean. "Let's just get this over with."

The last door on the left, the last one at the end of the hall, was the door that Roman finally stopped at. "Who the fuck are we looking for, Rome?" Dean growled. Roman knocked on the door twice, glanced sidelong at Dean and hummed low and uncomfortable in his throat. On the other side of the door, there is shuffling of feet and the click of the lock. The door swings open quietly, and Dean's jaw drops. Roman looks as though he'd swallowed something bitter.

"Boys! What brings you up here? I saw Seth's match with Dave; the medics told me you didn't check back with them after the show. Is Seth okay?" said the man at the door. Roman folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually, that's what we came up here to talk to you about, sir," Roman told him slowly. "It'll be easier to explain if we show you."

The CEO nodded, though an eyebrow raised skeptically. "Yeah, sure. Let me let Steph know I'm stepping out for a moment," Triple H said. In the short moment that it takes him to turn his back and disappear back into the room, Dean glares at Roman with a beyond livid glare. "Are you _fucking serious_?" he hisses in a terse whisper. "He can pull some strings so that Seth can heal without everyone being so suspicious," Roman told him calmly, though his gray eyes didn't seem so sure. Hunter steps out into the hallway then, silencing all conversation as he bids them to lead the way.

"Trust me," Roman sighs in the elevator, keeping his voice low. This time Dean refuses to look at him. He stays completely silent until they reach their room four floors down, and even then, he remains uncharacteristically quiet as Roman gives Hunter the details and fair warning before letting them all inside.

"So…I think he's still asleep," Roman begins, wincing at the glare weighing heavy on the back of his head, "which is probably for the best. I don't want to startle him." Roman rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't really run this whole thing by him." Dean snorts behind him, earning the latter a sharp jab to the ribs. "This is for his sake, and you know that," the Samoan growled at his teammate. "So chill."

Roman slipped the card into the lock and turned the knob. He allowed Triple H inside first and then Dean, then entered last.

Seth had switched positions since Roman and Dean had gone. He was lying on his stomach now, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed and the other hidden underneath his pillow, breathing shallowly. He whimpered softly in his sleep, making Roman frown. He wished he had something stronger to help ease the pain, but for the time being, sleep and Advil would have to suffice.

"What's going on?" Hunter asks as quietly as he can, yet still retaining an authoritative edge. Dean said nothing, keeping his hands shoved inside his pockets. "Batista hurt him," Roman said, moving to stand beside the bed. He takes the hem of Seth's shirt and yanks it up his back, his body only slightly in the way of Hunter's line of sight, gently rucking the fabric up to his shoulders.

"We had to get him help, but we couldn't leave him at a regular hospital," Roman says slowly, stepping aside. As Hunter's jaw drops and his eyes widen, Roman adds, "For obvious reasons."

Hunter's mouth opens and closes wordlessly as he staggers closer to the bed. Both Dean and Roman visibly tense-if Dean tensed any more, he would probably implode-as Hunter rakes his eyes over the bandaged wings, bundled up by the blue adhesive bandaging tape. The feathers rustle gently with each breath Seth takes.

"Are these real?" Hunter breathes. He reaches out to touch the wings.

"No!" Dean and Roman nearly shout. Seth stirs, and suddenly the room feels as though everyone is tiptoeing on eggshells right then and there. He eventually settles back, sound asleep still. Hunter looks back at the two other S.H.I.E.L.D. members, an eyebrow raised.

"_Don't. Touch. The wings_." Venom like thumbtacks drip through their words. Dean looks as though he is about to rip Hunter's head off. Roman sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Maybe…let's continue this someplace else. So we don't wake Seth up. I'll…" Roman glances at Dean tentatively. "I'll explain what's going on."

-8-

"They're broken. The vet said that it'll take at least five weeks from him to recover-"

"Wait, did you just say 'the vet'?" Hunter interjects. "The vet, like for animals?" The group had gathered back in Hunter's suite. Stephanie had already disappeared into the bathroom by the time they'd begun talking. The loud patter of water from the shower was doing a great job of drowning out their speech and keeping Stephanie from hearing things she wasn't meant to hear. Dean nods, sitting back heavily on the couch, arms resting on the back of it. "Why not? Who knows how to take care of broken wings better than fucking vet?" he says, rather defensively. "_That_," Roman says loudly, glaring sidelong at Dean, "is why we came to you. We needed someone to cover for Seth while he recovers."

"He's been wrestling all this time with those things attached to his back?" Hunter asks incredulously. Roman shrugged. "Not exactly. Give or take, about a month and a half. He's been trying to get better at hiding them and keeping them a secret."

"Can he…can he fly?"

"That's what wings are for," Dean deadpans, giving Hunter an unimpressed '_duh'_ look. "He can fly," Roman answers a bit more politely. He nudges Dean. "Calm the fuck down, man," he murmurs. Hunter raises an eyebrow at the two. "Is there…something I'm missing here? What's with all the hostility?"

"We were never actually planning on anyone finding out that Seth has wings, but the accident from earlier made it clear that we needed to make it known to someone who could have our backs if something like this-god forbid-ever happen again," Roman explained. He waved his hand in Dean's direction. "Dean was totally against me telling anyone. It's nothing personal; we're just looking out for our brother, you know?"

"So you need a cover-up for Seth so he can heal," Hunter says, steepling his fingers together. "Just for a bit; we'll still be on the road for tours and stuff, but Seth needs to take it easy," Roman tells him. Hunter scrubs a hand down his face. "Five weeks is a long time," he exhales roughly. "We'll have to work around this, story-wise. The Hounds and Evolution are supposed to be fighting the next show; we can probably get on with a two-on-two instead. Maybe have Seth cut a promo to make sure the revised storyline works out smoothly."

The sound of water in the bathroom stopped then. Hunter glanced back at the bathroom door and sighed. "We'll talk about this later," he promises. "Lunch, tomorrow, got it? That little café down the street."

Roman nods and gets up to leave. Dean leans forward, reluctant to go. "You can't use this in the storyline. Leave Seth's wings out of it-there's gonna be hell to pay if that gets out," he says darkly, a gutsy move considering the conversation he was currently having was with his boss. Hunter matches him in a level, eye-to-eye glare. "Nothing's going to happen to him; you don't have to tell me that."

Dean holds the gaze for a few moments longer, and then nods, slow and satisfied. He gets up, walks past Roman towards the door, pretending not to notice the eye roll Roman gives him as he goes. "We'll be there," he assures Hunter as Dean strolls out into the hallway. Hunter gives him a nod and Roman shuts the door behind him.

It's a long, silent trip back to their room, the air thick with unspoken arguments and words, and neither really wanting to get into a screaming match that night. As soon as the locks on the door click, Dean shoulders his way into the room, muttering, "I'm going the fuck to bed."

Roman would very well let him, wanting to get a shower himself, but something about Dean stopping dead in his tracks puts the thought on hold. Dean is staring at one of the beds, looking at such a loss for words that it's uncanny. Roman sidled up next to him, and immediately exhaled, hard and frustrated, through his nostrils, a frown pulling at his face.

Seth is awake, staring at the both of them, his dark eyes flitting from Dean and then to Roman. Roman knows they both look guilty as devils, and he knows that Seth knows it too. He doesn't hide it. There's no reason to, yet he still winces when Seth's voice, low and laced with panic, breaks through the silence.

"What did you do?"

.

.

-8-

**Off hiatus! A little heads-up: this story is about to get a lot less light-hearted; so many more secrets.**

**-AC**


	18. Downward Spiral

**Two updates in one night; aren't you kiddos lucky? I am preparing for another story as we speak, actually; superpowers and rival gangs and character death and city destruction and the like. If that tickles your fancy, let me know; it's supposed to be posted after ****_Icarus_****. **

**Anyway, have fun!**

Seth stabs at another forkful of pasta, keeping his head down as Roman and Triple H do most of the talking at the table. He's pretty aware that he looks like hungover college student, what with his sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. His hair is tucked under a backwards baseball cap, just to keep it out of his face, and though he isn't actually hungover, he sure as hell feels like it, practically lying across the table in an attempt to find comfort amid the pain. How many Advil pills could a person take in one sitting before they overdosed? Seth had no fucking clue, but had taken four in the last hour. To be totally honest, he felt like he was about to die.

"Fuck my life," he murmured around his pasta. It seemed like every little thing in the tiny café was meant to irritate him, from the pop music playing softly from the sound systems, to the fact that the air conditioning had been turned up a few degrees too chilly, to the really stupid things like baristas calling out the names of orders to customers. Everything was hell.

Fuck, why was there so much ice in the water? How was he supposed to drink anything with all these mini-glaciers floating around? Seth sighs. He wasn't usually this nitpicky. He wasn't new to pain and had definitely had broken bones before, but as fate would have it, _this_ was the worst injury he'd ever had.

Pain makes everything suck.

He still couldn't believe that he was having this meeting with his boss. It hadn't been the best evening the night before when Dean and Roman had come in and explained that Trips had been made privy to Seth's injury while he'd been asleep. And for some reason, it felt like the equivalent of snooping through a diary, the way they'd actually _shown_ Hunter his wings without him even being awake to have a say so. He would've been mad at the two of them, but he was way too out of it after being sedated on pain pills and the exhaustion that came with crippling agony to find the energy to be too upset with them. Seth wasn't a very secretive man by any means. But this was one of the few things he'd wanted to keep hidden no matter the cost.

"We'll play it off like a revenge story," Hunter was saying, sipping from his glass of sweet tea. "Make it seem like Batista put Seth on ice for a bit, and you two," he gestured at Roman on Seth's left, and Dean on his right, "will come after us trying to avenge his injury. Classic eye-for-an-eye. Since Dave'll be out for a while anyway for his movie, it'll be the perfect time to take him out like a casualty of war."

"What about next show?" Roman asks. "I don't mind doing three-on-two until Dave leaves."

"Either, or. Two-on-two or three-on-two. We can probably get the S.H.I.E.L.D. over far better with a three-on-two than a two-on-two. Makes you guys seem like the against-all-odds hero-type; y'know, sticking up for your brother and all, since justice is your guy's motif," says Hunter. He looks at Dean when he speaks again. "I ran it by Stephanie, since she's in charge of Creative, but I told her that it was due to Seth needing time to rest after a bad sprain from the match last night. No one else knows the truth."

Dean nods, still munching on his sandwich. Roast beef, an alternative to the buffalo wings he'd settled on earlier but decided against once Seth had given him death glares packed with enough venom to kill small animals. "Cool," is all he says, nodding again.

"I heard that I was supposed to cut a promo?" Seth speaks up, sounding way too drunk to be completely sober. But fuck if this wasn't so much better than what he had been feeling like before. He was almost too hopped up on ibuprofen to even feel the full extent of the pain.

"Yeah, you show up, you get gone, easy as that," Hunter says. "Backstage special. That'll be later on though, once we've established what the feud between the two groups is. It'll be the promo that announces your comeback after you recover. I think the fans will be pretty damn excited for it."

He narrows his eyes at the two-toned Hound. "Are you…drunk?"

"I took four Advil at the same time," Seth replies, sounding exhausted, which was partly true: he hadn't really gotten the best sleep the night before. Seth rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Is that bad?"

Dean shrugs. Roman looks slightly worried. Hunter opens and closes his mouth, searching for words, finds none, and briefly murmurs something about getting something stronger than Advil from the trainers.

-8-

Seth has been lying on one of the stage prop gurneys backstage. Honestly, he isn't supposed to be there, but he'd wanted to be there to watch his brothers do their thing-he's supposed to be resting, drilled into his head by both Roman and Dean. There's a monitor hanging over the equipment boxes by the wall, and Seth is watching it intently. He lies on his stomach, hands folded under his chin, one foot tapping against his calf. He winces when Dean takes a particularly nasty bump on the mat, knowing they'll have to ice that bruise later.

The match has been going well so far; just like Hunter had predicted, the two remaining Hounds had become the darlings of the crowd, the valiant heroes searching for vengeance on their fallen little brother. Randy and Roman were going at it in the center of the ring, swinging brutal-looking punches back and forth between each other. Oddly enough, even as blood splashes across the mat, Seth felt the pangs of hunger ravaging his stomach, unfazed by the gore on the screen. The scent of warm butter and salt has been wafting from the concessions stand for the past hour, calling Seth's name, and they aren't even hallway through the night's show. Watching the tail end of Dean and Roman's match, he debates with himself whether he wants to remove himself from his makeshift hangout spot to go in search of popcorn to snack on. His stomach growls loudly then, answering for him, and he begrudgingly rolls off the gurney. On the walk to the front of the arena, Seth decides that maybe going and showing up at the concession stand is a bad idea, considering the fact that he isn't even supposed to be in the building. He contemplates heading back to catering in the confines of backstage, forgoing the popcorn-

"Seth?"

Seth doesn't recognize the voice when he turns in the direction he'd heard it in. He looks around, left and right, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Seth Rollins?"

_There_. His eyes land on a guy a little older than him, or maybe around the same age-his face is so young, its hard to tell-standing off to the side. The guy is standing across from Seth, able to see him in the hallway from the more populated parts of the arena's front. He's got dark hair and glasses, a baseball cap jammed on his head. Seth had barely stepped out into the concessions area, yet somehow he'd already been spotted. The guy's face brightens in a wide smile and he crosses the floor towards him.

"Dude, I am such a huge fan!" he cries as he approaches. Seth grins nervously. "Heh, yeah. Could you keep it down? I'm not actually supposed to be here," he tells the guy. The guy nods, putting a finger to his lips to show that he comprehends.

"You after an autograph?" Seth asks him. "Photo?"

"Yeah, sure, and I wanted to ask you something too," the guy says.

Seth nods, used to this routine. The guy pulls his phone out of his pocket and steps beside Seth, aiming the camera in their direction. Once the picture shows up on the screen and the guy is satisfied, he leans over, whispering, "We might oughta keep this quiet, actually. Wouldn't want people finding out about this."

Seth flinches away. "About what?" Suddenly, he is very aware of how big the guy is, almost a head taller than him, though skinnier and lankier. His wings resist nervously shifting in Seth's shirt, the tingling sensation crawling its way up Seth's spine and making him shiver uncomfortably.

"I'll show you. Better come this way," the guy reaches out and grabs Seth's arm faster than Seth can react, and suddenly he finds himself being dragged down the hall at an alarming speed. The man's grip is like an iron vice digging painfully into his arm. How is he this strong, yet so wiry? They dip off into the hall delving further backstage, further back to the stage props that Seth had been lazing around on. There's a commotion going on down there, and Seth wonders if the match is over. It sounded like both parties were vacating the gorilla area and heading back to the locker rooms. No one would see them disappearing.

Fuck.

The guy swings them into a tiny room, a little white one with a plastic table and extra metal folding chairs stacked against one wall. He lets go of Seth's arm and closes the door behind them, turning back to Seth eagerly. Seth gives him one moment to say something, a small window of time to explain himself before he punches the guy square in the face.

"I've got pictures," the guy says grinning wildly. That makes Seth stop in his tracks, fist half raised and curled into a fist. He furrows his brows. "Pictures? Pictures of what? Are you one of those media hounds for those dirt sheet websites?"

Worst case scenario, the guy turned out to be a stalker.

"Pictures," the guy says, digging through his black shoulder satchel, "of you." He looks back up at Seth, eyes wide and brows raised high. "Pictures of you _flying_."

Seth's blood turns to ice water in his veins, right then and there.

His arms go limp by his sides and all of a sudden he feels like he's falling backwards, dizzy as fuck and nauseous as hell. His breath comes in short gasps. "What…how…" he can't seem to form a coherent sentence. He swallows, finally meeting the guy's eyes. "What are you talking about? Are you even a wrestling fan? Or are you just trying to start some shit rumor?"

"I only really started watching pro wrestling recently. That was after I saw you flying the first time. I knew I had to track you down after that," the guy says, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. Seth resists the urge to panic as best he can. He can't give this guy any clue that he might be right in his assumptions about Seth being able to fly, so he calms himself as quickly as he can and lies through his teeth.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he insists. Seth shakes his head. "I don't know if this is supposed to be a joke or something, but-"

The guy shoves some photographs at Seth. "Look." He points at the first photo and nods at him. "That's you," not exactly wrong, since the figure in the slightly blurry photo appeared to have the same blonde locks on one side of his head. The figure is caught before a bright blue sky, soaring above a blurry image of an abandoned parking lot. The photo itself is grainy, the same shitty quality of a cellphone camera being used while the photographer was moving. Regardless, Seth knew where this was from.

The very first time he and Dean and Roman had gone out to practice to flying.

Seth steels himself before he asks, "What is that supposed to be?"

"I've been following the show on the road since this photo." _Since_ _Anaheim_. "This one is from the first time I saw you in the air. I was driving by the lot in the photo when I took the picture so that's why it looks like garbage," the guy continues.

"I have no idea who you are or where you got that," says Seth, clenching and unclenching his clammy fists, "But you either need to move out of my way or leave-"

The door shudders under the force of the loud banging on the other side, admittedly startling both men. The door swings open, bounces off the wall and screams on its hinges. Roman looms in the doorway, an arm barring the way out and the other hand resting on his hip. Dean stands on his right, leaning against the door.

"I think we've heard enough," he drawls, cutting his ice-chip eyes at the stranger. He cracks his knuckles slowly, scowling at the guy with every knuckle that pops. Roman stares down the man, grey eyes cold as slate. "Damn right," he growls low and deep and dangerous. "I think it's way past time for you to leave, man - while you can still fucking walk."

The guy pales and looks back at Seth. Then he stuffs the photos back into his bag, never taking his wide eyes off of Roman and Dean. "Get gone," Roman rumbles, stepping aside enough for the man to hurry past, out into the hallway. He scampers by, his footsteps pattering down the hallway and finally fading away as he legs it out of the hallway, and probably the arena all together. Seth hadn't realized he had been holding his breath the entire time.

"_Seth_," Dean sings, still glaring sidelong at him, "what are you doing here, Seth?"

"Thought we told you to rest," Roman adds, smirking at the youngest of the trio and raises an eyebrow, "in the _hotel_."

Seth walked from the center of the room to the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor with his back to it. He immediately had to lean away from it as the pain in his wings flared up. "Hey, you alright?" Dean asks, crouching next to him. "Your hands are shaking."

Roman kneels down next to Dean, his brow furrowed. "What did that guy want? You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"How'd you know we were in here?" Seth asks instead. Roman nods at the door. "We saw him drag you in here when we were coming back from the ring. At first we thought it wasn't you, because you were supposed to be at the hotel," he shoots Seth an accusatory look, "but we decided to come check it out anyway."

"What was he talking about?" Dean pressed. "Whatever it was left you spooked." Seth ran his hands over his face and exhaled heavily. "I thought he was a regular fan," he says, rolling his eyes. "But then it turns out he's been following us since Anaheim."

"All the way from California?" Dean and Roman's faces are the picture of confusion, prompting Seth to keep going. "Yeah. He had pictures, man. He was there, I don't know. He saw us in that parking lot. He had pictures of me flying."

Dean looks repulsed, while Roman looks shocked. "He's been following you around since then? Just…stalking you? Taking pictures of you flying," Roman mutters. Seth sighs, running both hands through his hair. "Someone knows, guys. He's got proof."

Dean suddenly snarls-like, straight-up fucking _snarls_ like a _caged_ _animal_-and grabs both men by their upper arms, pulling them to their feet with him. He half drags them out into the hall, his pace brisk and furious and dark like a summer storm. Seth fidgets in Dean's grasp, trying to match his footsteps. "Dean, chill –_ow! Dean!_ Where are we even-"

"Come on," Dean growls. He hasn't even gotten out of his ring gear yet. Neither has Roman. They're going as is, wherever they may be heading. "We're getting _the fuck_ outta this place."

**Two updates in one night-lucky you! I'm just hella excited. Like I said earlier, this story is about to take a turn for the worst. Please continue to send me love: review! Motivation is much appreciated, and you, the reader, are very much appreciated, too! **

**Also, Please forgive me for what I am about to do to Seth.**

**-AC**


	19. Fighting Shadows

**Hang in there-next chapter is gonna be rough. Thank you for your reviews! I was literally smiling like an idiot when I checked the inbox this morning.**

"Guess it's a good thing I'm not flying for awhile, huh?" muses Seth as he lays stretched out on the bed. This week the show is in Cincinnati, Ohio, only having been a few hours since the boys had checked into the hotel the roster was booked to stay in. It had been a particularly rough ride for Seth, what with the bumps in the road and potholes all over the place. Plus, lying down across the backseat of a car was pretty uncomfortable, never mind the agony radiating from his back.

Now, sitting on the opposite bed, Roman gave him a pitying look. Seth continues, "At least that guy can't snap anymore incriminating pictures." Dean is lying on his back on the other side of Roman, flipping through tv channels on the hotel cable. "Sucks that someone knows. What if he tells the dirt sheets?" he grumbles, still sore about the previous encounter with the crazed photographer. "We shoulda taken that little scumbag's pictures and just burned 'em. Or maybe just burned _him_ while we were at it."

"That's murder, Dean," Roman reminded him. Dean shrugged, not missing a beat in his channel surfing. "That's _bad_," the Samoan added with a bit more emphasis. Dean shrugs again. "…Just kinda hold the guy over some pyrotechnics and -_woosh_\- evidence gone, we get off scot-free 'cause it looks like an accident," he mumbles, looking bored despite his short speech about essentially burning a witness alive. Seth looks a little disturbed. "Whoa, calm down over there, Satan. We'll be fine without beating, stabbing or burning any witnesses. Besides, who's really going to believe that any of those pictures were real?"

"That's not what I'm worried about," Dean says, still lounging on his back, one arm cradled under his head. "The problem is that he knows where we are. He's been following us for almost two months now apparently. And what's stopping him from hunting you down and actually getting _video_ evidence of you flying around? He thinks you're an oddity. That fact alone is what's gonna drive him to expose you; like finding the eighth wonder of the world."

"Cut open for the world to see," Seth murmurs into his folded arms, head resting on top of them. He still remembered that dream. It had come a little late, though, as by the time he'd woken up from it, he'd already been exposed.

-8-

Tonight, Seth has the hotel room to himself. Roman and Dean had already gone off to the arena to get ready for the night's show, so Seth took it upon himself to relish the peace and quiet that came with being alone.

He takes his sweet time in the shower, running hot water for nearly thirty minutes while he stands under the spray, soaping up his body and washing off, careful to mind the wings. The hot water is doing wonders for the pain; he almost doesn't want to leave. He dries off and dresses, opting to sleep in his boxers and sprawl out on the bed. Facing the headboard, Seth lounges on pillows, browsing on his phone with a half-lidded gaze.

When that's done, he switches directions, carrying his pillows with him, and opts to watch Homeland on the HBO channel the hotel provides. He's halfway dozing when his phone vibrates next to him, startling him awake again. Sliding the lock screen open, he finds a text message from Roman waiting for him.

_How r u holding up?_

_I'm fine, _Seth replies, _shouldn't you be working?_

_Fuck off. Shoot us up if anything happens, _is sent back in reply a moment later. Seth rolls his eyes, but the tiniest smile is playing on his lips. Sometimes Roman reminded him of a mother bear, not seeming to care that Seth was twenty-seven now and was as much an adult as he was; to Roman, he was still his little brother.

Eventually, Seth nods off. There are no bird dreams tonight.

Except there is. And it's brutal.

It comes early in the morning when the stars have begun to gently fade from the sky. Again, Seth goes through the same dream, the same excruciating dream of having his wings ripped from his body by some unseen force. Just before he plummets, the plummet that usually wakes him from the nightmare, he stops.

Finds himself in front of an old television. The television screen is grey with static and his surroundings are pitch black, like a living room lost in the plunges of night. There is something else there, though. Something inside the television screen.

Seth stares at for a long time, the item so obvious but so foreign to his sluggish mind. Something warm and wet is pooling around his hands, placed firmly on the ground before him as he leans close to the screen. He knows this. He _knows_ this. This, in the television screen, its-

He can almost touch the feathery down, the long brown plumes from the screen, like they're protruding through the glass. Seth kind of wants to touch them, but he also wants to scream and will himself to wake up before he regrets it. Neither happen as the wings fill up the television screen, the static defeaning, the sticky wet substance spreading and pooling around his hands. Only when a small droplet of red slips from the tip of the wings and splats softly against the glass, sliding down the screen to the floor, does Seth recognize blood.

He looks down. There's already so much blood pooling under his hands. Is it his? Is he bleeding too? Slowly, Seth reaches up and ghosts his red, wet fingertips over his shoulder blades, a cold feeling like a chunk of ice dropping into the pit of his stomach. The skin is slick, freshly stitched so it seems. He traces a V from his left shoulder blade to the dip in his lower back and then up to the right blade. The stitch job feels rushed, poorly done. Blood is still seeping through; he can feel it running in rivulets down his back. He's wounded and maimed, watching his wings drip blood from their post inside the tv screen.

_Torn open for the world to see._

-8-

Seth wakes abruptly to a pair of blue eyes hovering over him in the dim morning light. He jumps involuntarily, startled by the unnerving sight of Dean standing over him in near darkness, just watching.

"Could you _please_ not do that," Seth mumbles, lying back on his side. He's trying to calm his heartbeat, because _wow, out of one nightmare and_ _into_ _another_. Dean just continues looking, his features barely recognizable in the dark. Seth's voice is a bit hoarse and quiet from sleep, so, "Fuck, _seriously_, Dean, you're creeping me out; I hate it when you do stuff like this," comes out much quieter and much less annoyed than he'd intended for it to be. "What are you even doing?"

Dean's gaze sweeps away from Seth for a moment, dragging towards the room's front door, holds quietly, then moves back to Seth.

"_Someone's out there_."

It's barely audible, but Seth hears him anyway. He swallows, feeling clammy and cold. They both know who is outside the door. They know it all too well, and Seth is _seriously freaked_ _out_.

Maybe the scheme about the pyrotechnics isn't such a bad idea after all.

-8-

-8-

"I heard it when you started whimpering," Dean says. Day has finally broken and the night straight out of a psycho thriller has long gone. Dean and Seth had been awake since the discovery of someone lurking outside of their room, since it's kind of hard to sleep on the fact that someone unsavory was literally waiting on their doorstep.

"You were having a nightmare or something, I don't know. That woke me up first, but then I heard the shuffling outside. At first, I thought it was someone walking around, headed back to their room or something, but then I noticed the shadow underneath the door." Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I watched that thing for ten fucking minutes and it never moved. It was like that sneaky little fucker was waiting on someone to let him in. I saw him from the peephole, standing at the door, looking right and left, like he was waiting to be invited in."

Seth sighed loud and heavy. "This is ridiculous," he groans. "I've never had to deal with stalkers; why the fuck doesn't he just go away?"

Roman leans back against the table, brows knit in thought. "We could go to the cops," he says with an air of finality tailing his words. "Report the guy as a stalker like the creepy fuck he is."

Seth sighs. "Later. We've got a full day today." Roman shakes his head. "Oh, no. Dean and I have a full day. _You've_ got a date with a pillow."

Seth gives him his best 'are-you-serious?' look, and argues, "I'm part of the S.H.I.E.L.D. too! Wherever you guys go, I have to go as well. And if that means some boring radio interview, stuck in some uncomfortable chair for an hour and a half, then fine."

"I'm actually with Seth on this one, Rome," Dean says, scratching the back of his head. "Though not necessarily on the same terms. I'm serious; I don't want to leave him in here alone. Not after earlier." He turns to Seth then. "Don't get me wrong; you're fast as a mad bitch, man –we all know that. But leaving you injured in a bad way and hopped up on pain pills is not a good idea."

"Well, he's not going with us. Even if I have to tie him down to the mattress, he has to get some rest," Roman says, totally ignoring the slightly taken aback look on Seth's face. The youngest raises his hand and waves. "Um, hello, I'm literally right in front of you. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here."

Seth gets drowned out anyway, Dean and Roman going back and forth trying to come up with a plan. When they finally do quiet down, they both look at Seth with an unreadable expression. Seth raises an eyebrow at them. "What?"

Both men look slightly uncomfortable, like they know Seth won't like this idea. Seth narrows his eyes in a venomous glare. He's onto them, and they're right to be wary: Seth _doesn't_ like the idea. "Don't. You. Dare."

-8-

There's a knock on the door that startles Seth out of his thoughts. Hunter answers it, allowing Randy Orton to come inside. The minute the Viper catches sight of Seth sitting at the window, he raises an eyebrow. "What's the baby Hound doing here?"

Seth shot him a look. Dean and Roman had left him in the capable hands of their boss while they attended to the day's media events. This was Dean's fault, really; he had been the one who hadn't wanted to leave Seth in the hotel room with a stalker prowling the streets of Cincinnati. They'd practically dragged him up to Hunter's room and shoved him inside, explaining that he needed someplace to stay because of "unsavory circumstances".

"Just going over the plan for the next few weeks," Hunter answers, keeping his cover intact. He doesn't tell Randy that he's actually babysitting Seth because some weirdo has been stalking him, which is good for keeping up appearances, but Seth still hates that his boss is even having to_ babysit_ him. Randy nods. "Sucks about your sprain, man," he tells Seth. Seth almost gives everything away by giving Randy a confused look, before he remembers that the lie that's been spread is that he's out for 'minor injuries'. Ha.

"It's a little less exciting in the ring without you flying around everywhere." Seth gives him a weak smile.

If only he knew.


	20. Forgive Me

"I mean it," says Roman. "Stay put, we're coming back right now."

He hangs up, sighing heavily as he leans back into his seat. Dean looks at him from the corner of his eye. "He's trying to move again?"

"Yeah. Something about 'cabin fever'. Kid just can't stay put," Roman grumbles, running a hand over his face. Both of the remaining Hounds are sore and tired, having been put through the wringer at the hands of Evolution. Dean shifts in the driver's seat. "Damn," he grunts, popping out a knot in his back, "Randy needs to fuckin' cool it with the RKO's."

"Ice it when we get back to the hotel; I'll grab Seth when we get there and head down to the station, I guess," Roman says. Paranoia had begun to set in a little in Seth's psyche it seemed. He locked both locks on the hotel doors at all times and even though he loved being out on the balconies, he had opted to just stay inside. He was constantly checking social media sites and dirt sheets, almost obsessively searching to see if any of the photos had surfaced. Even though he had been the one to bring it to attention that no one was liable to actually believe the things they saw in the pictures, it was obviously still bothering him- as it should, because being followed across the country by a potential nutjob was not an easy thing to simply brush off. They needed to get rid of all that, because damn it all, Seth was supposed to be taking it easy while his wings healed, and stressing about some fruit loop lurking over his shoulder was not what he needed.

"Okay," Dean replies. "Shoot me up if something happens."

Roman grins, turning his head to look out the window. For all his tough-guy, rough-and-tumble, punch first, ask questions later façade, Dean really was a nice guy, who would punch your teeth out if you messed with him or his brothers. He cared.

"He'll be okay," Roman assures him. Dean's gaze never leaves the road, but Roman can hear him breathe the quietest of sighs.

-8-

Dean drops on the bed, sprawling flat against it. "Fuck," he sighs. "I'll just stay here until you guys get back."

"Yeah," Roman says. "Don't forget to put something on your back. C'mon, Seth."

Seth looked up from his phone. "Where?" Roman nodded towards the door. "We're going to the police station downtown to report that creep."

"Be safe," Dean calls after them as Seth slips on his shoes and Roman guides him out of the room. In the rental car, Seth is still scrolling through his phone. "Dean's a good friend," he says, absentmindedly. Roman looks over at him. "Yeah, he is." Leaning over to look closer at Seth's phone, he sighs and grabs it from him. "Hey!"

"No, man. You're gonna drive yourself crazy over these pictures. I don't want to see you on one of these sites again; you're stressing yourself out," Roman warns him, his voice leaving no room for argument, all the while keeping his eyes on the road. "I know you're worried, but we are too. That's why we're going to the cops before this gets way out of hand."

Seth rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest. "This is insane. I never wanted this to happen." He drags his hands over his face. Roman regards him for a moment. He hands him back the phone, ruffling his blonde and black hair fondly. "It's okay. We stick together, right? It'll get better, even if we have to step on some throats to make it happen," Roman tells him gently. Seth gives him a small grin. "Dean would be all too happy to," he says. Now Roman smiles, laughing softly to himself.

"Me too. That fucker's gonna rue the day he decided to mess with our little brother." Seth switches tabs to open his message inbox. "I'm not that little. You're not that much older."

"You're the youngest one in the group. You're the baby brother."

"Then what does that make you? The overprotective mama bear-"

The sound of metal colliding with metal and glass suddenly pierces through the air, whiplash making both passengers sickeningly dizzy, rubber skidding hard and hot over the asphalt. It's as though the entire world as exploded with sound, lights flashing before their eyes and the sense of being upside down. And then nothing.

-8-

-8-

Roman blinks, once, twice, and inhales. One side of his head is pressed against the cold glass of the driver's side window, slightly warm from a wet patch that's smeared through his hair. For a while, he can't hear anything. He can hear his breathing, hard and ragged, the blood rushing in his ears, but nothing from the outside world. Not the cars on the street. Not the other driver. Not Seth.

_Seth_.

_Fuck_.

He cranes his neck, having to actually look straight up to see Seth above him. Seth is hanging overhead, halfway out of his seat, the seatbelt the only thing keeping him strapped and not on top of Roman. His side of the car looks as though it's imploded, the glass blown out and the door actually poking inside, crushing Seth's legs. His hair, the blonde part, is dark with blood, droplets slipping down in rhythmic pattering. A droplet falls and splashes against Roman's face, against his cheek right under his eye, pulling everything back to Roman.

The sound comes rushing back, the feeling in his hands and gut returned like millions of piercing needles, and he remembers.

He has to get Seth out. He has to make sure he's alive.

"Seth," he calls. His voice is weak and hoarse. He coughs, trying to clear his throat, and tries again. "_Seth_," he says again, stronger this time. When Seth doesn't respond, Roman does his best to convince himself that it's because his voice is still too quiet for him to hear. He'll just have to get them both out himself. He raises his hand, trying to catch Seth's limp one dangling overhead. He gives it a squeeze.

"S'okay, kiddo," he slurs, feeling as though his head is stuffed with cotton, "I'll get us outta here." Roman pulls on his seatbelt, trying to unclip it so that he can move. He yanks on the belt and punches in the locking button a few times, finally manages to get free. Now, the hard part is getting Seth out without injuring him any further. Briefly, the idea that maybe waiting for the ambulance to arrive would be a safer bet than trying to get out by themselves, but Roman is terrified that waiting for help would mean losing Seth.

And that couldn't happen.

Roman manages to get into a kneeling position, balancing on what used to be the driver's side window. He reaches up and fiddles with the locking button on Seth's seat, keeping a shaky hand on his arm just in case the lock suddenly opens and Seth falls out. "C'mon," Roman grunts, tugging hard at the belt. "C'mon."

The plastic outer coating of the lock is chipped and broken. Roman sets to work opening that instead, since the seatbelt appears to be doing its best to keep Seth bound to the chair. His fingers scrabble across the plastic, digging into the seam with his fingernails. He cuts his hand on the splintered material, yanking it this way and that until it finally breaks open. From there, the belt clip pops out with much less effort than trying to unlock the damn thing. Roman stretches up and slips one arm behind Seth's back and the other under his legs and lets gravity do the rest. Seth's foot catches in between the seat and the door turned inward and stops him from falling back against Roman's chest, but comes away free with a gentle tug.

That's it.

It's dark as fuck, too dark to see the extent of Seth's injuries, but the way his bones feel beneath the back of his shirt, shifting and too much like a bag of needles when Roman presses his hand against it, he knows it's much worse than he can see. Careful to mind his back, Roman leans against the steering wheel and holds onto Seth. At least in this close proximity, he can feel him breathing against his chest, hear the shallow rhythm close to his ear. He rests his chin on top of Seth's head and tries to stay awake, gather his bearings, _stay_ _calm_.

The car is flipped on its side. They can't get out until someone comes to get them. And Roman has a feeling that help is a long way off.

Dean comes tearing through the front doors like hell on wheels, nearly running over a young couple on their way out. His blue eyes scan the waiting room wildly before they finally fall on Roman, sitting alone on one of the chairs against the wall. Dean makes a beeline for him.

"What happened?" he asks breathlessly. The Samoan looks up, raising his head from his hands, and wow. Roman definitely looks worse for wear. There's a bandage pressed over his eyebrow and various bruises littering his arms. His hair is matted with blood and one of his eyes is ringed with a sickening shade of purple. A bandage has been tied around his left hand and his fingers look as though they've been through a wood chipper, red and scratched up. His clothes are filthy.

There's still no sign of Seth.

"What. Happened?" Dean says firmly, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Roman is looking at him with tired eyes. So much. So much has happened.

-8-

-8-

"I wasn't beat up too badly, but then again, I didn't get the worst of the crash," says Roman slowly. He won't look at Dean, just stares out at the wall, beyond the sterile waiting room's confines. "The light was green, man. We were in the clear. But this maniac came barreling at us so fast…I couldn't even slam on the breaks. He…he ran the red light; didn't even see us coming, I think. He T-boned us, hit the passenger's side where Seth was." Roman shakes his head, rubbing his forehead. A migraine pounded behind his skull. "The paramedics told me we slid into the other road, the guy hit us so hard. Pushed all the way across the intersection."

Dean is silent for a long time. His eyes fixed on the floor, and then the wall, same as Roman. "Is the other guy okay?" he finally asks, his voice tight and dangerous. Roman shakes his head. "Dead. On impact, they said." Next to him, he hears Dean pull in a breath. He knows what he's thinking: if the guy in the other car was dead, what did that say about Seth, the only one on the receiving end of all that force?

"Surgery," Roman says suddenly, startling Dean out of whatever mental stew he had been in; from the looks of it, the verge of a panic attack followed by murder. "They're trying to stabilize him. Seth, I mean. I don't know. The medics told me that when they finally got us out of the car, I wouldn't let go of him. They said I was fighting them so hard when they started prying him from me; nearly broke a guy's nose when they put him in the ambulance. I don't remember any of it."

Dean stands suddenly, a frustrated screech through clenched teeth and chair knocked over the extent of Dean's emotional display. He mutters things under his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. He wanted to hurt something, someone. He wanted to punch them so hard, so many times that their face would be unrecognizable when he was done with them. He really wished the other driver had survived, only because Dean wanted to decimate him for putting his friends in this position. The edges of his vision were beginning to bleed red, anger consuming any rational thinking. If Seth died, he was liable to do one of two things: commit murder in rage, or drink himself into such a stupor that he never woke up again.

If Seth did pull through-god, he hoped he pulled through-then it would likely be hell on earth. He understood Roman's readiness to beat someone to a pulp if they tried to take Seth away. Ambulances meant hospitals, and hospitals meant surgery. Surgery meant that someone would see. Someone would expose Seth's wings to the world.

This was the very thing that they had been working themselves to death to protect. When those doctors saw the wings, they would definitely have questions. Poking around where they shouldn't be. Calling him a freak of nature, and looking for every possible way to explain why a human being had honest-to-god wings sticking out of his back. Somehow, Dean knew it wasn't a stretch to fear tests and every intention of pulling Seth apart to study him and then stitching him back up again. He couldn't accept that, not the fact that at this point, it was safe to say that either way, whether Seth survived or not, he would still suffer.

-8-

-8-

Three broken ribs. One shattered. Internal bruising of the kidneys. Concussion and temporary paralysis from the waist down, due to a bad bruise against his spinal column. He had a gash along the right side of his head, nearly seven inches long, and deep. Needed stitches. His right leg is shattered from impact. So many bruises. So many cuts and scrapes that shouldn't have been there.

Seth breathes quietly on the hospital bed, so quietly and gently that to Roman and Dean it doesn't even look as though his chest is rising and falling. They have to depend on the steady tick of the heart monitor next to his bed to tell them whether or not they've lost him.

It's the most maddening sound in the world.

Dean keeps bracing for it to just stop altogether, just flatline and scream in one continuous, monotone screech, filling the room with anguish and sorrow. Dean stares down at his friend, his brother. He's out on pain meds. They've been keeping him under for almost a day now, counting the hours that have passed since he was first brought in for surgery. It almost totaled to an entire day that Seth hadn't yet opened his eyes.

In drug-induced sleep, Seth looks peaceful, like he's just sleeping off a day in the ring, bone-tired and dreamless. But Dean knows better. If it weren't for the bandage pressed against the gash along Seth's head, hiding the gore and stitches, the bruises and cuts littering his arms and legs and face like he'd fallen into a bed of glass, the casts and wrapping bandages constricting his body like snakes, it would've just been Seth. A healthy, vibrant Seth, albeit nursing some broken wings, but a Seth that was assuredly alive nonetheless.

Dean grimaces noticeably, a shiver running through him from his shoulders to his feet. Oh god. The wings.

He remembered how Roman had explained the feel of Seth's back through the fabric of his t-shirt.

_'It felt like I was holding a bag of bones, man. It was terrifying; I thought his back- the spine, y'know- had been shattered and he was either gonna die or be paraplegic for the rest of his life. But then I remembered what else was there.'_

The wings had almost completely shattered. It was a literal wonder, in Dean's mind, that the bones hadn't already turned to dust they were in such bad shape. He was eternally grateful that he hadn't been there to see the damage, but hearing about it hurt about as much as it would actually bearing witness to it. The right wing was shattered in two different places –Dean couldn't remember what the bones affected were called, and of course, the ER personnel had no fucking clue either- and had bent inward apparently, now resembling the shape of an 'L'. The left wing was in supposedly in much better shape, relatively speaking. It hadn't shattered like its opposite, which had softened most of the impact, but it had bent inward, almost to the point that one of the bones poking out had been stabbing into Seth's back.

Vaguely, Dean recalls something the veterinarian back in Chicago had told them. Something concerning bones protruding from wings.

_"If the bone had been protruding from any of the breaks he wouldn't have been able to fly again. Usually we have to resort to euthanasia, the bones are unable to be set and won't heal correctly. That means the bird won't be able to fly or survive. It's usually better to just put the poor thing out of its misery."_

Since Seth wasn't actually a bird, the need for euthanasia wasn't necessary, so at least this wouldn't kill him. However, losing the ability to fly wouldn't sit well with him. If anything, that was what would kill Seth. He loved flying. In the short time the wings had been conjoined to him, he'd grown to love them. They'd become a part of him. Losing them would be the death of him, and neither Dean nor Roman could bear to lose that smile.

Dean looked up at the doorway, finding Roman standing there with two coffees in his hands. "You look pretty ghoulish, man," Roman says, noting the tired eyes and pale skin of his friend. Dean shrugs. "I haven't slept much."

"I can tell," Roman says, crossing the floor towards Dean. He hands him one of the cups and nurses the other like a lifeline. "You should try to sleep though. I'm serious; when Seth wakes up, you know he'll give you hell if he knows you-"

"When?" Dean says as though he's surprised. His blue eyes look borderline manic and oddly wet. His voice curls and tightens at the end of his sentence. It's almost as though he can't believe it. "Yes, Dean. _When_. He'll wake up. Seth's a tough kid, you and I both know that. Don't worry about it," Roman replies firmly without missing a beat. "He'll pull through this." He knows that he's only saying this because he needs to hear it out loud for himself. He's been trying to put on a strong front for Dean, but he can't deny that he's just as terrified as Dean is. Dean continues his silence, looking unsure and, for the life of him, about to cry. Slowly, he nods.

A knock at the door startles them both to near death. A nurse is smiling softly at them, a clipboard in her hand. "Gentleman, I'm going to have to ask you to leave; visiting hours are over," she told them quietly, not wanting to wake Seth. "You can come back to see him tomorrow. I can't guarantee he'll be awake by then, but I know you must be worried."

Roman nodded at her, showing he understood. He nudges Dean's arm. "C'mon, man. We'll come back the minute the hours are allowed again, got it?"

Dean stares at Seth asleep and dreaming on morphine for a while longer, then turns towards the door without a word. Roman follows him out, passing the nurse a small smile as they go. She returns it, but then pauses, grabs his arm.

"Sorry, but…that man," she whispers in a low voice, glancing into Seth's room, "you were with him at the time of the crash, right?"

Roman, raising an eyebrow at her, nods.

"I'm sorry about that," the nurse says, looking genuinely sincere. "But, if it's not too much to ask, did you know about...his, um…_wings_?" Her eyes are wide when she says 'wings', like it's taboo, some curse word uttered in the pews of a church. Roman stares at her, feeling as though the floor had begun falling out from under him. So.

It was time.

Roman had been dreading this moment. The moment he would have to watch his best friend become nothing more than a scientific marvel for doctors to poke and prod at, for people to inquire about and judge. The nurse, seeming to sense his discomfort, slowly released her grip on his arm. It hadn't been that tight to begin with. "I don't think it matters now," she says, looking down at her feet and shaking her head, "the doctors already know. But if anyone else asks, I won't tell them. I promise. I see how scared you both are, you and your pale friend."

Roman stares at her for a long moment. Then he nods as best he can without looking too disappointed. "Thanks," he mumbles out. The nurse nods and offers him a sympathetic smile. Then she dips into Seth's room and closes the door behind her.

Roman stands outside the door, staring beyond the barrier. Guilt had begun to tear at his heart, creep into his head the past few hours that he'd been there. He'd gone to get coffees for himself and Dean only as an excuse to get away. He couldn't take looking at his battered and broken friend, his little brother, any longer. Staring down at Seth half-dead had allowed guilt and worst case scenarios to go running through his mind. He'd begun to blame himself for what had happened to Seth. It was his fault for not paying enough attention to whatever fucker had been running traffic lights. It was his fault for not making sure that there was absolutely no one coming. It was his fault for paying more attention to Seth than what was going on around them. It was his fault that Seth was here in the hospital, with two broken wings and a ravaged body.

He sighs, hanging his head, so many awful emotions weighing down heavy on his heart.

'_I'm sorry_.'

-8-

The next day, the doctors come looking.

-8-

-8-

**Sorry, so sorry. Who's ready to have fun?**

**-AC**


	21. Last Minute

Dean is practically sprinting down the hall, regardless of the wards warning him to stop. Roman follows not too far behind, two others in his wake. He apologizes as he goes by each nurse and staff member that Dean has ignored and tries his hardest to keep up with the dirty blonde.

Visiting hours began at two o' clock in the afternoon. Dean skids to a stop at the elevator at 1:59. Hardly even waiting for the others to properly get inside the lift car, he mashes in the number for Seth's floor. On ground floor, they'd already been told by one of the nurses at the front desk that Seth had been scheduled to be seen by the doctors from the local hospital as well as those from sister cities. Dean knew all too well why all those nosy, lab coat-wearing bastards were there. Brushing aside the news, Dean had made a beeline for the hallway, having enough sense to play it cool and look the least suspicious he could manage before getting out of the nurse's view of course, and had herded his pack to the nearest elevator. They narrowly manage to cram into the elevator car with Dean before it leaves without them. Randy leans back heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he pants, "you're a quick bastard, Dean."

"If we get caught, you know this is illegal; we could get kicked out and banned from seeing Seth," Roman says, casting a glance at the fourth man in their ragtag group, at the mention of illegal escapades. Triple H shrugs. "Even if we do, it wouldn't matter. We won't be in Cincinnati for much longer."

Roman feels Dean tense up taut as a wire next to him. He knows; he isn't really too thrilled about having to leave the kid behind either.

The elevator chimes, the doors sliding open onto the new floor and Dean takes off again. Roman rolls his eyes, follows with a sigh, Randy tailing behind at a less strenuous pace with Hunter calmly bringing up the rear.

Around the corner, Roman finally catches up with Dean. "Why the fuck is Randy even here?" Dean asks, slowing a bit to scan the hall for Seth's room. "He doesn't –_isn't_-" its a direct jab and glare at Roman when he says it, "supposed to know about Seth." Roman shrugs apologetically. "He was with Trips when he came. I don't know why he's here either. But Hunter's okay with it, so…" He trails off and suppresses an amused grin at the narrowed death glare Dean is giving him currently.

It isn't tricky to find Seth's room. The number of people in lab coats standing at the door is a beacon for the group, screaming 'hey, look over here!', and Dean feels his stomach drop. They're too late. The room is almost bursting with people; some of them don't even look like doctors or scientists. They have notepads and pencils in hand, occasionally taking notes. Journalists.

_"Fucking damn it," _Dean growls low in his throat. Something moves out of the corner of his eye. Hunter has pulled his phone out of pocket, his eyes glued on his phone, brow furrowed in concentration as he studies the screen.

"What's going on?" Dean asks, confused. _What the fuck was more important than getting those doctors away from Seth at this point? What was so interesting on_ _that_ _screen_ _that_-

"Fourth floor," Hunter mumbles suddenly, fingers flying across the screen. "You'll know it when you get here."

Dean narrows his eyes. "What? Who else is coming?" Seemingly ignorant of Dean's question, Hunter looks up, back at the crowded hallway full of people. "Shit," he murmurs. Dean is further confused, exchanging glances with Roman. Did he _just_ realize how completely _fucked_ Seth was?

"Think he can get that many people?" Randy says, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the crowd with something like venom in his eyes. Hunter chews his lip thoughtfully. "Sure as hell hope so," he replied. "If not…"

And at that moment, a chorus of gasps arise from the crowd. The group doesn't need to see inside the room to know what demanded such a reaction; they can pretty much guess. Dean smacks his palm hard against the wall. "_Fuck_!"

Hunter and Randy remain oddly calm, glancing back over their shoulders from time to time. Dean doesn't understand it and looks to Roman, who shrugs and watches the two. Suddenly a pounding of feet sounds from around the corner, and within seconds, they're greeted with blue eyes and a nervous grin.

"Hey, guys; am I late?" the newcomer asks. He has an accent, Dean realizes. The kid looks familiar, but he can't quite put a name to the face. He's young looking, built limber and tone, good for speed and aerial maneuvers. Ah –he knows this kid. An NXT rookie. But what was his name?

"A few minutes earlier wouldn't have hurt," Hunter said aloofly, waving the kid along. "Can you manage that many people? There's more in the room."

The kid nervously bites at his lip, gauging his options. He hums low in his throat for a moment. "I think so. I've never tried that many people before, but so long as I can get everyone's attention, I think I've got this," he says. Hunter nods and jerks his head towards the crowd. "Then I guess you're up, kiddo."

The newbie greets Randy, "Hey, Randy," and smiles at Roman and Dean, seeming to study them for a moment as he passes, then applies full attention to swimming through the crowd of people. Curious, Dean follows, pushing past people to get a look at the inside of the room. The sight makes his blood boil. Seth is lying on his side, his wings still bound in the figure-eight bandage, redone by the hospital's request from a veterinarian from earlier, but clearly out on display. As the doctor –Dean recognizes the man as the same who was there in Seth's room when he and Roman had come up to see him the minute he'd come from surgery- is explaining the validity of the structures jutting from Seth's back with evidence from tests apparently performed after surgery, the NXT kid finally pushes through the crowd. He stands next to the doctor speaking who has paused, looking at him with confusion and a mild touch of distaste.

"Excuse me, sir," the doctor begins, "you seem to be lost. Can I help you?"

The kid sands his hands together, and grins. "Actually, you can. You all can. I just need you to focus on something for a few seconds, okay?" Without any response from the doctor or his audience, the kid begins explaining himself. "Stand over there with the rest of them, will you? Gotta make sure you all get a good look at this; it's a _real fuckin' doozy_. You see, I've got this issue, with my back, you know? It's a bit of a hassle, not quite as benign as my friend's over there," he gestures at Seth, and then reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head. Some of the females in attendance make some rather mature noises in response to the sight of a well-built, half-naked, and very handsome man in front of them. "Yeah," the kid says, seeming to soak up the attention with a sunny smile. "But that's not what I want you to focus on. I need you guys to –are we all looking? All eyes on me? Good- I need you guys to take a gander, " he turns his back to the crowd, "_at this_."

Dean barely catches a glimpse of the kid's back before suddenly his view is deterred by Randy. He makes to protest, but Randy smirks. "Don't want to watch that," he says jokingly, though his eyes warn something entirely different. "No peeking."

And for some reason, Dean doesn't argue. He stays facing Randy, glancing down at his feet instead of staring the Viper full-on in his face, because _wow, awkward_, as the rest of the crowd goes silent, almost deathly so.

A bit off to the side, Dean glances up and catches sight of Roman, staring off down the hall as Hunter leans with his back against the wall, unable to see inside the room. That's when he notices that they are the only four not looking into the room. Curiosity is running rampant now, but still Dean resists the urge to lean over and peer past Randy into the room, until he hears the rustle of clothes and the sound of someone clapping his hands together.  
"Alright!" it's the new kid's voice. "You all can leave now. I'm not sure why you all thought it was okay to be crowding my friend in his room; can't you lot see he's trying to get some sleep? He's got to rest!"

For a moment, there's silence. Then slowly a murmur rises up from the crowd, confused and disoriented, and little by little the doctors and journalists begin to disembark from the room and disperse in the hall as if being driven along by a current. Dean and Roman watch them go with wide eyes. It was over? Just like that?

Once the last doctor leaves, the one who had been speaking, the group nearly bowls him over herding into the room. Seth's wings have been covered up by a hospital issued blanket, rising and falling as his body does with each quiet breath. The kid is standing by his bed, looking concerned. Seriously, who the fuck was he?

Once the others approach, he looks up, his face completely brightening up once he catches sight of them. "Mission accomplished, boss man," he says cheerily. Hunter joins him by the bed. "I see," he shakes his shoulder with a small grin. Dean steps up then, before the pair can say anything else. "What the hell does that mean? What did you do? And who even are you?"

The kid nods his head, going _'ah'_, then crosses the short distance towards Dean. He offers his hand to shake, grinning widely as he introduces himself. "Name's Finn. Finn Balor. Pleasure to meet you and be of assistance."

He looks around the hospital room, his eyes eventually landing on Seth, gazing at him with a gentle expression, vaguely resembling familiarity, fondness even. All three Hounds knew that look well; it was one they shared with each other.

"Guess it's a good thing I got here when I did."

-8-

-8-

-8-

"Homo avialae," Finn murmured, watching Seth curiously. He rounded the bed slowly, turning his head this way and that, peering at the feathers that poked out from under Seth's back. Carefully, he leaned down close enough to Seth's chest to, presumably, listen to his heartbeat.

"You know there's a heart monitor right next to you, right?" Dean says, looking oddly at Finn, who flaps a hand at him, holding up one finger for quiet. After a moment of silence, he pulls away, nodding to himself. "Normal human heartbeat. No four-chambered heart?"

"Not full-blooded," Randy says thoughtfully, awe quietly coloring his voice. Dean turns to him. "Full-blooded what?"

"Light," Finn says suddenly, making Dean look back at him. He's gently lifting Seth's arm, slipping a hand under his shoulder and testing the weight. Behind him, Roman has one foot forward, as if frozen mid step, bristling over Finn's shoulder as he moves Seth's limbs. "Calcium-dense bones. Lots of muscle. More human than anything. Lightweight maybe under all the muscle, but probably not," the newbie says, mostly to himself. "Definitely not," Randy tells him, shaking his head. "Not with human organs. He's not full-blooded."

"What the fuck are you guys talking about?" Dean finally says loudly, throwing his hands into the air. "Full-blooded what? And what was the deal with you," Dean points at Finn, "and those doctors? Who, or what the fuck are you people? How do you know Randy?" he points at the Viper then. "And how do you know this kid?"

Randy looks from Dean to Hunter leaning against the wall by the head of the hospital bed, seeming to silently ask permission to answer with his eyes. Finn shrugs a shoulder at him as well. "I mean, they already kinda know," he says quietly. Hunter nods. "May as well, though we should probably wait until Seth wakes up. He'll want to hear this too, I'm sure."

So they wait. Finn and Randy keep quiet, refusing to even make eye contact with both Roman and Dean, while Hunter mostly stays outside the room, and probably even the building, making calls. He doesn't say who he's been talking to when he returns. Regardless, almost to the second, Randy raises his head just as Hunter re-enters the room, his eyes glued to Seth's frame on the bed. "Showtime," he says quietly. It takes a moment of strained silence, but eventually, Seth shifts under the blanket, a weak twitch of his arm, and makes a small, hoarse noise in the back of his throat.

"Seth?" Almost immediately, Roman and Dean appear by his side, gazing down at him with hopeful eyes. "C'mon, kiddo," Roman murmurs, "wake up. Open those eyes."

It's been an hour since Finn drove the doctor's out of the room, almost ten minutes more waiting for Seth to finally open his eyes. When he finally does, it's a slow, tedious process. His eyelids must feel like they weigh a ton as they slowly slide away from his brown eyes.

"There we go," Roman says gently, smiling in relief. "How're you feeling?"

Seth makes an effort to blink, swimming in and out of a morphine haze. He can't really feel anything –god bless the power of high-grade painkillers. Even though his body language read exhaustion and his dark eyes were half-lidded, he still made an attempt to speak. It takes a few tries, his words mostly slurred together and mumbling as he tries to get his mouth to work. His voice is low and sluggish with sleep when he finally says, "Where'm I?"

Dean furrows his brows, worry etching his features. "You don't remember?"

Seth closes his eyes again. He hums slightly; no. Roman sighs. "I guess you wouldn't; you've been unconscious for almost two days." Seth's eyes widen at this, though he still looks dead tired. "What happened?"

Roman shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "There was a car crash," he says quietly. "You got the worst of it. The guy slammed right into us off your side. He died on impact. I'm okay, I'm okay," Roman added hurriedly, seeing Seth's eyebrows furrow in worry. "But you got hurt bad."

"How bad?"

"We thought we were gonna lose you."

Seth tilts his head; a nod as best he can manage. "Feelin' it," is all he says before closing his eyes again. "Morphine's powerful stuff."

Both Roman and Dean wince at that mention; Seth was so pumped full of morphine that he probably couldn't tell that he had no feeling in his leg. When he finally came down off the stuff, he would probably be panicked by the loss of sensation. Both of them exchange worried looks, but before Dean can explain the temporary paralysis that was ailing him, Seth turns his head a little, opening his eyes again, blinking once, before he settles on the three others watching him. A small grin graces his lips. "Randy? What're you guys doing here, Hunter?"

"Came to save your butt," Hunter answers, grinning at his bedridden protégé. "Prying eyes and inquiring minds wanted to know what was under your shirt; just thought we'd come prevent that. I made you a promise. I'm making good on it."

Seth nods, tilting his head slightly again. "Thanks, Hunter." He furrows his brow at Finn. "Ah…um…Finn, right? The Demon kid."

"You know him?" Dean asks incredulously. Surprisingly, he hasn't shown any extreme displays of relief and joy at Seth's awakening, but Roman figures that it's only because there are other people in the room with them. Later, the tears of relief might come, they might not. If they did, Roman certainly wouldn't judge.

"Yeah. NXT kid. Good ringwork. Sick body paint," Seth replies, his voice still low and scratchy, yet still bearing an air of amusement. Hunter nods. "Yup, brought him all the way up from Tampa," he says nodding at him. Finn gives Seth a two-fingered salute. "Nice to meet you formally," he says cheerily. "Now, think you can stay awake? We need to talk."

"'Bout what?" Seth asks, interest obviously piqued despite his body exuberating drowsiness. Finn cocks his head in thought. "We were waiting for you to wake up, actually. Dean asked us to explain ourselves; '_ourselves'_ including you now. We thought it best to show you what you really are."

Seth stares at him for a moment, confusion etched into his face. Still, he nods slowly and tries his best to seem awake.

**Some of you commented, telling me you thought Seth's fate was kinda cliche, and I agree. I get that, but it had to be that way to set in motion these next few secrets and surprises. Hopefully by the end of this story, I'll hit two-hundred reviews. It makes my day to find them in my inbox and I want you readers to know that I appreciate you, even if you don't review or follow. That's not what this is about; I just came here to have a good time and let everyone have a good time with me. So I thank you for joining me this far. :)**

**-AC**


	22. Animal Within

"We're genetically diverse organisms," Randy says, his usual air of aloofness making the statement seem like a casual answer. "T_etragametic chimerism_," adds Finn from the other side of the bed. "If you want to be fancy and technical. That's the scientific term for what made us like this. We're genetically distinct humans with a special variety of cells."

"But _don't_ call us mutants," Randy says dangerously. "That's not what we are."

Dean raised both eyebrows. "_We_?"

Finn pointed at himself. "Me," pointed down at Seth and then gestured across the room, "Seth, Randy and Hunter."

"We were born this way," Randy finishes. Seth watches him for a moment. "Born what way?"

Roman points at him, never uncrossing his arms. "Like you. You know how you've got wings growing out yer back? Some of us do that too."

"Do you have wings?" Seth asks curiously. Randy smirks and shakes his head. "Nah, not me. As far as we know, people like you are rare. People with wings and tails and the like, is what I mean. Not a lot of people adapt with cell growth like you have. Most of them look like us," he gestures around the room. "There aren't a ton of people like you because of that. It's a rare gene; most people's bodies aren't strong enough to handle gene adaptation."

Seth looks at the ceiling, trying to process everything that Randy has said. So he wasn't full human? Was he really awake? Or was this a morphine dream?

"So, if you're not like me," he starts slowly, still barely able to believe what he was hearing, "then what are you?"

Actually, he's a little bit scared of hearing Randy's answer now that he thinks about it.

"Viper," Randy says simply, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Seth gives him a disbelieving look that Randy laughs at and raises his hands. "Hey, I'm being serious! The Apex Predator thing isn't just an awesome gimmick. See?" Randy opens his mouth and pulls back his upper lip, baring his teeth. Where canines would be in a normal human mouth, Randy flashes a pair of sharp dagger-like fangs, top and bottom. He grins when Seth's eyes widen and he breathes out an awestricken, "Whoa, that's sick," and then closes his mouth. "They get longer when I go full-on reptile."

"Full-on reptile?" Seth echoes. "Wait, you can pick when your fangs grow out?"

"Yeah, but don't get your hopes up. You can't do that with your wings. Those are part of you; limbs, even. And, no, I don't actually turn into a snake. My fangs just grow out, sometimes my eyes turn orange and almond shaped. Sometimes I can use this organ on the roof of my mouth to pick up scents and stuff. Average snake shit."

"Don't forget hissing," Hunter said, smirking at the annoyed look Randy threw his way. Seth's eyes were wide, trained on Randy as though he would disappear if he blinked.

"Why do you keep saying I'm not full-blooded? What does that even mean?" he asked.

Finn leaned against the bed next to Seth's head and tapped a finger against his chin. "Well now, the idea is that you're only full-blooded if you popped out the day you were born with bird wings," he explains. "That means your mom probably had wings too. But I'm guessing by how ignorant you are of what's going on that your mother wasn't like you. You only grew your wings later in life. You've only got a quarter in you, if not less."

"Quarter what?"

Finn grins. "Bird-blood. Not quite sure what kind of bird you've got hidden in your genes, though. It would be easier to tell if you were full-blooded."

"Are you guys full-blooded?"

Finn nods. "I am. Randy is too, I think. Got it from his dad."

"I only started realizing my traits when I was older," says Hunter. It's then that he curls his lip back and reveals sharp incisors, not as sharp as Randy's of course, but still pretty mean-looking. "Full-bloods are tricky to find. My kids won't show any of my traits because they're girls; there isn't a gene compatible for them."

"As a human with wings though, you're pretty rare by comparison. You're the one in a million of a one in a million group of people," Randy adds. He smirks and gives Seth a thumbs up. "Congratulations."

Seth stares down at his hospital blanket, trying to take the whole scenario in. So, he wasn't full human. He was half an animal; half being used loosely, according to Finn's explanation. It almost makes him laugh, the irony of it all. Dean had always said he was a weird kid. He looked back up at the Brit. "So, I'm a bird. Randy's a snake. What the hell are you supposed to be?"

Finn beams mischievously. "I'm what we're named after. You ever hear of the chimera?"

-8-

-8-

"A lion's body, head of a goat pokin' up out of the back, snake for a tail; fuckin' ugly creature sounds like, wouldn't you say?" says Finn.

"Not the worst thing I've heard of," replied Seth, trying to imagine the British wrestler with a goat's head sticking out of his back. It was a little weird to be honest.

"Greek mythos. They say she's supposed to breathe fire. Now, I can't do that, but I've got this lovely spot on my back that is pretty cool too, in my opinion," Finn tells him, moving down to sit at Seth's side on the bed and rucking his shirt up and over his shoulders. "Don't ogle too long. It's still active even when I'm suppressing it."

In the middle of Finn's back, a large yellow eye took up most of his pale skin, tattooed to look real enough to reach out and touch, though Seth refrained from it, seeing as how it's claw-shaped pupil seemed to slide to the left to gaze directly at him. His heart skipped a beat when it blinked and proceeded to direct its attention to Roman and Randy on the opposite side of the bed.

"Holy_ fuck_," Dean leaned closer to the Brit's back. "Is that real?"

"Eye of the Chimera," Finn said. "I may not have fire or snakes hissing out my rear, but I do have this guy. If I'm not suppressing it, looking into it wipes the freshest memory right out of your noggin. Works pretty well in a pinch," he says winking back at Seth. "I'm also pretty sturdy, which is where the goat part kicks in I think. Sometimes me and Randy go at it 'cause, y'know, snakes an' all. It's pretty funny; us hissing at each other and faking each other out."

Finn pulls his shirt back down over his back and turns to face Seth again. "You're not alone in this. You've got us; we know what it's like. We may not be a huge community, but some of us are much closer than you even realized. Much closer."

"Mick Foley," Randy says, offering up an example. Obviously Seth hadn't been expecting that one. Seth turns and looks at him with awe, raising both eyebrows. "You serious?"

"Shark. Didn't you ever wonder why he was always kinda crazy around blood? He had gills when he was born, I think," says Hunter then, still leaning against the wall. "Got 'em removed. Fins too, though they only really started growing once he did. He still has the scars."

Randy nods over at Hunter. "And then there's the Undertaker. Dog's blood. That's why he butted heads with Trips so much. Yeah, they were pretty brutal in the ring, but sometimes they got into it when the camera's weren't rolling too."

"Nicknamed hellhound. Think it's wild dog DNA," added Hunter thoughtfully. "Great guy; love 'em to death. It's just that our alpha males conflicted."

Roman, who had been mostly quiet, absorbing the facts, raised an eyebrow at the CEO quizzically. "You're dog's blood too?"

Triple H shook his head. "Lion." It's Randy's turn to smirk then, snickering under his breath. "Used to have a mane too back in the Attitude days. His dragon-lady wife made him cut it though."

"Steph's a dragon?" asked all three Hounds in disbelief, Seth finally looking the most awake and alert since he'd woken up. Randy's eyes went wide and he burst out laughing, so hard that he doubled over, holding his stomach. Hunter just rolled his eyes. "No, Stephanie isn't a dragon. She's straight human. Chyna, on the other hand…"

"Wasn't she, like, a lynx or something?"

"Nah, that was Melina. Chyna was a lioness, which is partly the reason why we started dating," Hunter explains. Seth furrowed his brow, leaning back further into his pillows, wincing slightly at the dull pain beginning to throb in his ribs. "Then how'd you end up with Stephanie?"

"Chyna may have been my lion's counterpart, but she wasn't for me," Hunter said dismissively. "Steph wasn't what the lion wanted, but she was much less harsh and stoic, kinder, cuter. Chyna had a little too much drive."

He watches Seth carefully as the bedridden half-blonde picked with the loose threads on his blanket, frowning lightly in thought. "So even after all of this; even after we told you about what I was…you chose to let me think I was alone?" Seth asks quietly. The hurt in his voice is evident. Hunter sighs heavily, looking apologetic. "If you hadn't been hurt, yes. I had no idea that you were like us, which is why when Roman and Dean first told me, I was skeptical. I didn't want to risk exposing the others."

Seth nodded, wincing lightly. "I guess…"

"We need to call the nurses back, Seth?" Randy said suddenly. The younger Hound snapped his gaze back to Randy. "You're hurting, right? Smells like earth after a hard rain." At first, Seth didn't understand what the hell Randy was talking about –pain smells like damp earth apparently?- He hadn't realized the man had yawned. He must've picked up on the scent then by accident.

"Kinda hurts," Seth admits, which isn't a lie; the feeling is returning to his body slowly. "But if the nurses come back, they'll probably up my dose and then I'll gone baby gone. I still want to ask you guys some things."

Hunter watches him carefully, again with the same look of fondness that Finn and Roman and Dean had given him.

"Ask away."

-8-

"Why is it that all of the people we know who are half-animal are also wrestlers?"

Hunter, Randy and Finn all look up in surprise at Dean's question. "What a coincidence, right?"

"Simple," Hunter told him. "Half-animal means half-animal instinct. If you haven't already noticed, most of us are part of some dominant animal or naturally violent creature. Getting paid to fight, to let the beast inside out? This is the life for some of these people."

"Hunter's an older lion, but I know you've seen him go when he was young. He was vicious. People like Mick Foley lived for that brand of violence. Gave us a chance to let our real selves come out for a bit. Even better if we stepped in the ring with one of our own; we could be as rough as we wanted and have no hard feelings after," says Randy.

Seth frowned, thinking hard in his hazy drugged-out state. "How do you know I'm rare? Were there any others like me?" he asks. It's not likely, knowing that there aren't that many people with the genes the four of them in the room possess, but even still, it's better than knowing that Seth was basically, literally, alone in the crowd as the only one with wings. Randy nodded, pressing his thumb thoughtfully against his chin.

"Yeah, actually," he replies. "Jeff Hardy, I think. He had some hawk in him. He had trouble with broken wings more than once too, falling off all those damn ladders. Eventually, he couldn't keep it up, succumbing to the pain meds the doctors put him on for the pains new and old. Shame, he was a good kid, too. Technically, you're his successor."

Seth furrowed his brow. He indeed remembered the rainbow high-flyer, but he also recalled that he wasn't exactly the most subtle person in the ring at the time. "But he ran around shirtless all the time; how did no one notice?"

"Remember how I told you I could turn the viper on and off?" Randy asks him. "He could do the same with his wings. Saw him do it once," Randy makes a face and shudders, "Never again. Predatory bird that he was, he had talons too I think. Could lengthen his nails real sharp like bird claws."

"When my eyes turn gold, is that my full animal coming out too?"

Finn gave him a strange look. "What are you talking about?"

"My eyes turn gold sometimes," Seth explains. He tries to think back to the last time the phenomenon had happened; it's been a long time. "When they turn gold, I usually fly faster than without them. It leaves me exhausted afterwards."

Finn nibbles on his bottom lip, looking up expectantly at Randy, who shrugs and passes the look on to Hunter. Hunter hums deep and scratches the back of his head. "I actually have no idea," he admitted. "I've never heard of that happening. I'm not too knowledgeable on the whole bird thing."

"You could ask," Randy offers with a shrug of his shoulders. "When you're outta here."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Ask who?"

"If you can find him," Hunter answers, a small sparkle glinting in his eye, "go and ask Jeff Hardy."

**Fun times. Lots of sciency stuff that you don't really need to know. All you need to know is that these weirdos have animal DNA of some degree, and that tetragametc chimerism actually exists. Look it up, it's pretty cool. :)**

**Also, I haven't been able to see it yet, but thank you to ****vicesandconverse**** for making a cover for this story! When I got your comment, I screamed really loud and danced in one place like a fool. Battleground is coming up -completely off-topic, by the way- who are you guys rooting for?**

**-AC**


	23. Run

Seth wakes up twice in the night, once at midnight and lastly at three in the morning, and alerts the nurses and medical staff to his room without even meaning to.

He wakes up both times, panicked and disoriented, screaming that he couldn't feel his legs. In the short time between each bout of panic, he seemed to have forgotten that he'd already been informed of his paralysis. It had probably been an unintended side effect of the amount of morphine they had given him, or it may have been from the concussion Seth was currently suffering.

Either way, each panic attack came the exact same way. Each time he woke up, he woke up hyperventilating, sweat running in cold rivulets down his back. The tight little gasping noises he made as the realization of his motionless legs broke the orderlies hearts each time as they desperately attempted to calm him down. He was trying, he told them, he was trying so hard; he knew what he wanted his legs to do, could see it in his head, but they just wouldn't move. Not even a twitch.

He would scratch at his legs through the blankets, gasping over and over, "I can't feel it, _I can't feel it_!" The second time he woke, he'd begun scratching first and foremost before the orderlies were aware and able to stop him. Now his tan legs were ravaged up and down with long, red marks, like claws from an animal. Anything to help him feel something, anything.

Eventually, the nurses resort to sedatives, needing him to calm down before he hurt himself far worse. Once the drugs flowed freely through his system, Seth's eyelids began to droop, his restless fingers went limp, and slowly, his finally began to even out. It was a rough night, and Dean and Roman would never even hear about it had it not been for stubbornness.

-8-

-8-

"Fuck."

"Good morning to you too."

"Fuck off."

Dean is not happy. Obviously.

The Raw roster has been scheduled to leave Cincinnati, planning to be all the way in Tampa by Sunday. Today is Friday. They have no time to waste. Leaving so quickly with such a deadline to keep means that there is no time for dithering around and fucking about; it also means that there is no time to see Seth one last time. Seth has to stay behind in the hospital, halfway across the country. It isn't like the trio hasn't been split up before, mostly for days off, though –but this absence is riddled with worry. Really, how can you expect a band of brothers to leave the other behind while he's broken and battered?

"Neither of us are in the title run right now; why can't we stay behind?" Dean vocalizes to the open air. He isn't really talking to anyone, just needing to vent, but Roman puts his two cents in anyway from the bathroom.

"We've still gotta make an appearance. Trips might be on our side, but Vince'll bite all our heads off if we don't show. Seth's got a valid excuse, and he's safe. He's in a hospital, right? Who is gonna hurt him there? And Finn took care of the whole scandal; he'll be okay," Roman says, focusing vaguely on combing out the knots in his inky hair. One snags painfully and he swears under his breath.

"We still never got the police on that creepy fuck," Dean growled, the stalker's face appearing in his mind. He rubbed his palms into his eyes. "What if he gets into the hospital? Ugh, everything just happened so fast; there's just too much going on." He shakes his head, and peeking around the doorframe, Roman spies the ice chips freezing over in Dean's blue eyes. His pupils are barely wider than pinpoints.

"I need a drink."

Roman rolls his eyes. "Dean, no. Not this early. Don't go bitch mode on me now." Dean smirked, his lip curling back over his teeth almost animalistically. He gazes sidelong at Roman through his brown hair, looking wild and stubborn. He says, "It's five o'clock somewhere," and moves towards the door like a thunderstorm.

"What, that's not- that doesn't even make sense, Dean," Roman groans, intercepting him before he even makes it past the bathroom doorway. He knows what's happening here; Dean had always been the first person to throw a punch if someone put their hands on Seth. He would never leave that kid's side, and the thought of abandoning him when he was battered and broken, his nerves were frayed and the last thing he needed in him is alcohol. Dean sidesteps, trying to find a way around Roman's broad frame, but the moment he moves, Roman is on him, locking him in a chokehold.

"It's not five o'clock somewhere, stop saying that all the time; it doesn't even make sense!" he half-shouts, trying to subdue a thrashing Dean. He's elbowed in the gut for all his trouble, and Dean even bites his arm when he refuses to loosen his hold.

"You wanna fight?" Dean roars, sounding very much like an animal himself. "I'm not joking; I could kill a man for a shot right now," he pants. He suddenly drops his weight, forcing Roman to follow him down hard to the floor. "That's why I'm not letting you go get shit-faced at nine in the fucking morning!" he says, quickly re-establishing his hold. "You're not in your right mind and if you get into trouble on the way to Tampa, I'm not covering for you. You need to calm down –Seth will be _fine_!"

At the time, Roman doesn't recognize the faint patting against his arm. When he glances down at Dean, he finds the latter's face red as a tomato, tapping out against Roman's arms locked tight around his breathing space. "Tap," he croaks, nudging his arm. "Fuck, tap out, man, damn."

Roman reluctantly releases him and Dean rolls coughing away. Roman watches him, his own breathing a bit rough. "Get down off of bitch mode," he says slowly, "we'll grab the rental and check up on Seth once, alright? For five minutes."

Dean turns his head towards the huge Samoan. His eyes are still icy blue, but his pupils have begun returning to their normal size. It's a start. Instead of actually responding, Dean just stares at him, breathing through his mouth.

It's not much, but it'll have to do.

-8-

-8-

"We had to sedate him," the nurse tells them as she opens the door to Seth's room. She has a clipboard in her hand, having been on her way to check his vitals for the morning when she ran into Dean and Roman.

Dean's expression hardens. "Why? What happened?"

The nurse smiles sadly. "Poor thing woke up screaming last night. Twice, actually. He forgot about the temporary paralysis in his legs, and it scared him. The forgetfulness is probably a result of the concussion, but he was scratching his legs so terribly that we eventually had to put him under to stop him from injuring himself any more."

Seth is still asleep when the group walks inside, though when the nurse begins pressing buttons along the equipment, he stirs, woken up by the noise. The nurse smiles softly at him. "Sorry if I woke you up, hon. You've got visitors too."

"Morning, kid," says Dean leaning over the rail. "How you hanging in there?"

Seth blinks and stretches his shoulders as best he can, frowning when he can't feel the tingle in his toes. "I've been better." He narrows sleepy eyes at his blue-eyed friend. "What's up with your neck?"

"Roman put me in a chokehold," Dean replies simply. Seth turns towards Roman then, looking exasperated. Roman shrugged his shoulder and raised his hands. "What can I say? Bitch mode."

Seth rolls his eyes and groans, running a hand down his face. Affectionately known as 'bitch mode', the moments when Dean hit an emotional breaking point, usually stress or anger or something else totally Dean-like, was the worst time in the world to ask him to do something. It was usually followed by a drink- or four, or five- followed by a mellow drunken haze that resulted in Dean oversharing his problems and worries. Most of the time, a slurred, "I fuckin' _love_ you guys", was the icing on the crazy cake, though on some rare occasions, it tended to end in a half-assed middle finger poking out from the sheets Dean had buried himself in.

It was quite an adventure.

"You've seriously got to calm down, man," Seth tells Dean, giving him a sympathetic look. It isn't totally Dean's fault; Seth knew that if either of his brothers had switched places with him right now, he would've been the same way: a mess of frayed nerves and crushing stress. "I'll be okay. What are you so afraid of? I'm still breathing, right? I know my name and I know your name. I know where I am and who you guys are. I'm okay. You don't have to worry."

He gently punches Dean in the arm. "Go have fun. And give Dave a black eye for me, got it?"

-8-

-8-

The drive to Tampa is long and terse with silence. Dean really wishes Seth had a phone with him so that at least he would be able to keep in touch. Before they'd left, Roman and Dean had gone to the downtown police precinct and reported the stalker, with Dean trying to make sure that if they saw the guy, they would jump on him immediately.

Thinking about it, Dean didn't know where Seth's phone even was. The last time he'd even seen him with it was…before the crash.

Knowing how badly the overall damage had been, it was pretty safe to say that it was gone, smashed beyond use. Even if Seth had had it on him, he wouldn't have been able to use it.

Suddenly, Dean felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Without even taking his eyes off the road, Roman squeezed his friend's arm, trying to reassure him as best he could. It was a wonder he had even agreed to being the one to drive, considering the last time he drove a car, there was a wreck.

Something vibrates in Roman's pocket, making Dean lean over to fish it out. Staring down at the screen, his blood suddenly freezes in his veins.

"Who is it?" Roman asks, still keeping his eyes on the road. Dean presses the call button with shaking fingers and brings the device to his ear.

For a long time, nobody on either line says anything, but Dean knows there's someone there; he can hear them breathing. 'Hello' gets caught in his throat, making him sit with his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

He half expects a nurse to tell him something terrible happened tonight; a more gruesome repeat of the night before, or the police to tell him that someone got into Seth's room this late and no one arrived in time to help him. He doesn't recognize the number, though, and that makes it even worse.

But he recognizes his voice. It isn't a nurse, or a police officer.

"Hello?"

Confusion makes Dean dizzy. He shouldn't be hearing this voice right now. He shouldn't be hearing the soft woosh of cars on the street in the background, the occasional honk and the voices of Cincinnati nightlife.

Eventually Dean responds.

"He…hello?"

"It's me."

"I know. What's-"

"I'm gonna be gone for a while…okay?"

"Gone? Gone where? Where are you right now?"

"I'm outside the hospital. I ran."

"You _what_?"

That gets Roman's attention. He glances over at Dean with an eyebrow raised, sensing the disbelief in his voice.

"I'll see you later, okay? I'm gonna miss the bus if I don't go now, and I don't know how much battery this thing has."

Dean flinches in his seat like he's been electrocuted. "Wait, wait: bus? What do you mean you'll see us later? Where are you going?" It takes him nearly a full minute to realize that he's been cut off and that Seth has hung up already, and when he does, he growls in frustration, cocking his arm back as though he might throw the phone.

"Don't even," Roman warns him in a low voice. Dean slowly lowers his arm and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. "Calm down," he hears Roman tell him. "Tell me what happened. Who was that on the phone?"

Dean takes a deep breath and holds the phone out to Roman. "It was Seth," he says slowly. Roman furrows both brows, confusion etching his features. "How?"

"Hell if I know," says Dean. "But he's gone. He ran from the hospital."

**Dun-dun-dun. Last chapter I asked you guys who you were rooting for in Battleground, and the answer was overwhelmingly: Seth! I was kinda surprised to be honest. We'll see what happened to Seth next chapter.**

**-AC**


	24. Jailbreak

This was the third time that Seth had woken up that night. He was coming down off the morphine more and more each hour and it was starting to get on his last nerve. The ache in his ribs was becoming more annoying as he struggled to find a comfortable position to get back to sleep in, but as the hours wore on it seemed like the idea was sinking further and further into wishful thinking territory.

At least his wings didn't hurt as badly anymore. They were healing, but it felt like it was taking forever. He'd gotten so used to flying around everyday –even made it a point to practice almost as often as he went to the gym- that it felt really odd to be immobilized like this. Not to mention the disuse of his legs.

That had been a hard pill to swallow.

When the nurses had explained to him what had happened to him after the wreck, he'd nearly fallen into a panic attack. Of course, they told him it was only temporary paralysis and that he should be able to move his legs within a month's time frame. It would take that long because of the time required for his spine to mend the bruise, but it still scared him to death.

What if the doctors were wrong? What if he never regained the use of his legs again?

Seth turned on his side, favoring his ribs, and tried to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he didn't open them, he would eventually fall asleep. He sighed, wondering if Dean and Roman had made it to Tampa yet. Honestly, he had no idea where the next show would be after Tampa; he was pretty behind on the schedule. It wasn't like he'd been told; he wasn't going to be there anyway.

He heard footsteps outside of his room, soft pattering footsteps that Seth disregarded as one of the nurses in scrubs moving up and down the hall. Shifting in his blankets, he sighed and screwed his eyes closed even tighter, trying to will sleep to come to him out of thin air. The footsteps have stopped outside his door, and suddenly the room is dimly illuminated by the bright light seeping in from the hall. It darkens again just as quickly, and Seth is still oblivious to the nurse's presence as she crosses the room and stands behind Seth's back.

Seth still isn't quite sure if Finn's weird ass powers will continue to prevent everyone from remembering that he has wings, but so far the nurses and orderlies have either not noticed that they are there or treated them as if they were the most normal thing in the world, inspecting the adhesive bandages but never bothering them. He guesses that's what the nurse is doing now and just goes with it.

There's silence for a long moment, and then the sound of clicking machinery, and even from behind his closed eyelids, he can see the bright light of a camera flash.

Seth's eyes fly wide open and he nearly sends himself crashing back down against the bed when he sits up too quickly. The tall shape looming at the foot of his bed is definitely not a nurse. Unfortunately, he knows exactly who this is, and once he gets over his initial shock, a ferocity that isn't entirely Seth's fills his veins. He growls like some rabid animal, his heart pumping double-time from fear or shock or anger –he wasn't quite sure which- and his veins pumped with adrenaline. He recognized this feeling and had no doubt that his eyes sheened gold.

Why couldn't Finn have stuck around long enough to get this guy too?

He propelled himself off the bed with a strength and speed he didn't know he possessed in his current state, lunging at the man in the baseball cap with a war-like cry. Seth tackled the man to the ground, ignoring his surprised shriek, and cocked his fist back. His knuckles spattered with blood, bruising from just the one punch to the man's nose.

"_Who the fuck are you and why do you keep following me_?" Seth snarled, readying for another blow. The man who he recognized from the arena that night opened and closed his mouth like a fish, eyes wide in the dark. "Gold," he stammered out, glasses knocked askew and blood coming in rivulets from his nose.

Seth glared down at him, fist still cocked back, looking at a loss as to what to do next. The decision he makes is risky and on the fly and probably really stupid, but he reaches down and roots through the man's pockets. He finds a phone and a wallet inside, and snarls at the man, "Jacket. Off. Now."

His voice isn't his own right now. He hardly recognizes the dangerous low tones, but they appear to be working in his favor so he brushes them off as a scare factor.

Interesting.

The man sheds his jacket and holds it out with a shaking arm. Seth snatches it up, wrestles the man's camera from around his neck and, with one last glare, escapes through the door. The door locks from the inside for privacy, so Seth makes sure to lock it before he closes it shut behind him and makes his way down the hall, hoping none of the orderlies were close by.

As he walks, he keeps a brisk pace to avoid drawing too much attention and shrugs the stolen jacket on over his own shoulders, thankful that his stalker was tall and a size bigger than Seth was normal to so that the jacket was comfortable over his wings. He shoves the wallet and phone into either of the pockets in the jacket and hangs the camera around his neck by its strap. He hangs back from rounding a corner, finding a nurse exiting one of the rooms with a tray of pills in hand.

Sensing an idea, Seth waits until her back is turned and she begins walking down the hall, and then silently pads towards the room. He manages to catch the door before it closes and locks –otherwise he would've needed a key card to open it again- and slips inside. There are cabinets full of pills in boxes and jars, assorted medical equipment and silver trays like the one the nurse had been carrying.

Seth knows what his painkillers are called; he's had enough in his lifetime to be able to know the names. He roots through the cabinets until he finds them and unscrews the top. He shoves his hand inside and collects a handful of the little white capsules, stuffs them into his pockets and replaces the jar. Briefly, he questions why he's doing this. Is he really about to illegally break out of a hospital? He's already punched a guy in the nose and stolen his stuff, not to mention his pockets are currently filled with pain medication that he was never allotted. _Why are you running_?

The camera thumps heavily against his chest as he moves, almost like a reminder. Oh. Right. Because the person who could rat him out and expose him to the public was following him. He needed to get out of Cincinnati. If he could get off the grid, then the man couldn't follow him. He _had_ said that he had been following the show on the road, and that was how he'd been finding Seth all this time. Seth peeked out through the door, making sure the coast was clear, before heading down the hallway in the same direction the previous nurse had gone. The elevators were the opposite direction, but if the orderlies found out that he'd escaped, that would be the first place that they would look. It was easy to access, especially for someone who was supposed to be wounded and in pain.

Stairs it was.

Seth found the stairwell with no problem and hurried down them as quickly as he could. By the time he'd made it to the ground floor level, he was breathing hard, his ribs protesting annoyingly as his lungs pressed against them trying to gulp in precious air. Now the hard part was getting out through the hospital entrance while still in his gown that clearly marked him as a patient. He walked as quietly as he could from the stairwell, closing the door softly behind him. This late at night, there weren't that many people in the lobby; one or two stragglers at best, and a drowsy looking nurse manning the front desk.

Thankfully, as Seth neared the desk, the nurse leaned down to fiddle with something in her pocket and then returned her focus to what Seth guessed was her phone. From there, Seth used her distraction and slipped towards the front doors. One of the two stragglers looked up at him as he hurried by, but did nothing to stop him.

Once the doors slid open, Seth made a break for it. He ran through the night air, his hospital gown flapping like tails behind him, the ground cool against his feet now that the sun was not there to warm it.

So he was out now.

First things first, he would have to get rid of the giveaway outfit. Finding a Wal-Mart that was still open was easy, and using the money he found in the stalker's wallet, he managed to snag a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, some underwear, and a nondescript baseball cap. He stuffed the rest of the underwear and his gown and shirts into a backpack –a pretty good idea on his part to buy some of those packs of t-shirts and underwear- and simply ripped the tags off of a pair of cheap looking flip-flops. After paying with cash, Seth left the wallet behind and pocketed the rest of the paper money, since there was no use in using the credit or debit cards if he didn't have ID or a pin number to work with. He left the wallet with the customer service desk, saying that someone had dropped it in somewhere in the store, and legged it out of the store.

Fuck, this was so surreal. It felt like something out of a movie; stealing people's wallets and having to disappear in such a fugitive-like fashion. Actually, this was probably what Dean did on a daily basis. He'd tried to teach Seth once, but Seth had brushed him off -"I don't wan't you to teach me how to be a menace to society"-but now, he was kind of glad that he had remembered at least something from that lesson.

From there, Seth had no idea where he would go. He just knew that he needed to get out of Cincinnati. He pulled out the phone and dialed a number he knew would pick up. Heaven knew why he was calling this number, he had no idea what he would say once they picked up, but as the ringer began on the other line, he waited with baited breath for the familiar voice.

Seth knew they'd picked up. He could hear them breathing.

But for a while, neither of them said anything, shock evident for both of them.

"Hello?"

Seth waited for a response, and smiled when he was answered with a nervous-sounding, "He…hello?"

"It's me," Seth said, knowing Dean would recognize who he was talking to from his voice alone. Sure enough, he replied, "I know. What's-"

"I'm gonna be gone for a while, okay?" Seth blurted out. He himself didn't really know why he said that. Where exactly was he going?

"Gone?" came Dean's startled reply. "Gone where? Where are you right now?"

"I'm outside the hospital," Seth lied. "I ran."

He can practically hear Dean's jaw dropping. "You what?"

"Look, I'll see you later okay? I'm gonna miss the bus if I don't go now, and I don't know how much battery this thing has," says Seth, unaware of what his brain has cooked up for him. He murmurs a quick goodbye and hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket and really wishing that he had though to grab a USB charger from the Wal-Mart. Too late for that, he guessed. He was going to miss the bus if he stayed here any longer, and he needed the rest of the phone's battery to search the web for his next destination.

He needed to find out where Ring of Honor was being held this week; that would be his best bet.

**Don't you remember, Seth? You're temporarily paralyzed; what are you doing up? Expect little one or three shots later on, I think? If you want to play a game, pick your fighter for Battleground: Seth or Brock. All the users and guests who pick right, will get the next chapter dedicated to them. Just something fun. :)**

**-AC**


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